


Temptation

by myaekingheart



Series: The Temptation Chronicles [1]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types
Genre: Age of Winter (Narnia), Book/Movie: The Lion the Witch and the Wardrobe, F/M, Narnia, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Retelling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-01-26
Packaged: 2019-03-09 20:05:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 71,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13488798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myaekingheart/pseuds/myaekingheart
Summary: After endless years of bitter cold, Eilonwy had given up hope on the long foretold prophecy– that two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve would venture from a faraway land to save Narnia from it’s eternal winter. However, when she finds herself face to face with the four prophesied humans, her entire belief system is shattered. Now she must embark on a perilous journey to help safely deliver the Pevensie family to a Lion she’s not sure even exists and, along the way, feels her heart begin to thaw along with the wondrous land of Narnia itself.





	1. Prologue

      _It was cold_. But then again, it was always cold. With a focused gaze, the maiden in blue drew the arrow back against her bow and then–  _twang!_ Blood oozed from the pierced flesh as the fawn collapsed onto the ground with a disgraceful wail. Dismounting her mare, Eilonwy narrowed her eyes and finished off her prey, his eyes glazing over and head drooping limply as the blood bubbling from the scar stained the snow bright red. She knelt down beside the carcass to inspect the quality of her catch, shutting his eyelids so as not to garner any pity for the creature, and whispered softly, “You’re better off” before hoisting the animal over Everlast’s flank. 

      The journey home was dull and quiet, per usual, only the crunch of snow beneath Everlast’s hooves stirring the wood. The sun was just beginning to set behind the mountain range, the glistening sea just out of reach. Inhaling deeply, Eilonwy closed her eyes and let the crisp winter air consume her.  _What, pray tell, would happen should I release my inhibitions and simply float along the air currents? Where shall I arrive?_ , she thought to herself, a gentle breeze blowing tendrils of matted hair away from her face.   
      Upon the western branch of the Great River sat a small dam in which a pair of kindly Beavers resided. Mr. Beaver, having grown rowdy with impatience, shook the excess water from his fur with a discontented grunt, climbing upon the icy shelf of the small lake. As she approached, Eilonwy dismounted, crossed her arms and watched him a moment before finally speaking. “You oughtn’t catch many fish with tactics as weak as that”, she jested, catching the Beaver’s attention. He grimaced a moment before shaking his head and approaching the young girl.  
      “Where on Earth have you been? Mrs. Beaver’s been worried sick! It ain’t right to worry her like that”, he scolded. Eilonwy simply uttered an aggravated noise and rolled her eyes before hoisting the carcass from Everlast’s flank and dropping it into the snow before him.   
      “Well, worry or not, you’re fortunate I returned at all. And with food, no less”, she replied. Mr. Beaver’s eyes widened, impressed, as he leaned down to sniff at the corpse.   
      “How on earth did ya manage to peg that sorry bloke?”, he inquired.   
      “With rather good aim, I shouldn’t wonder”, Eilonwy replied proudly. Nodding her head towards the front door, she signalled for Mr. Beaver to head inside so she could gut the corpse. She knew despite his attempt at masculinity, blood and innards made him rather squeamish and the last thing she wanted was to hinder his grand appetite. Upon tying her hair back, she whipped a dagger from her hip and made an incision along the abdomen, separating the meat from everything else. It was a trying process, certainly, but fortunately the presence of so much blood ceased to phase her and she had grown accustomed to handling internal organs and the like.   
      Once finished, she disposed of the useless leftovers and carted the meat inside, laying the heap upon a cloth on the kitchen table. “Hope you’re craving venison. I doubt this ought to keep well.”   
      Mrs. Beaver, poking at the laundry upon the fire, shook her head as she toddled over and began preparing the meat for storage. “No, dear, we shan’t eat this tonight! We must save it for a special occasion!” She quickly detected Eilonwy’s masked contempt at her words. Shaking her head, Mrs. Beaver shooed Eilonwy out of the room with an, “Ah, ah, ah! I won’t be having any negativity in my kitchen!”   
      Scuttling to the stove, Mrs. Beaver returned to her preparations. Eilonwy, watching from the small den, scoffed and seated herself in her usual rocking chair beside the window. The familiar scent of fish and chips aggravated the air and she drew her knees to her chest, attempting to keep the nausea at bay. It was the same routine day after dreary day, the same meals and conversations and quietness. It was a wonder how the Beavers had yet to realize how mundane their lives truly were. Granted, the whole of Narnia was mundane: an entire country damned to an eternity of snow and ice. Simply the prospect of it was sickening.   
      Just as the trio had seated themselves for dinner, a ruckus outside captured their attention, each of them rising in unison. Eilonwy’s heart raced. The only explanation she could possibly conjure made her stomach churn and all the color quickly drained from her face.   
      Frustrated with the disruption, Mr. Beaver muttered something inaudible beneath his breath as he scurried up to the dam’s lookout hole. Supposing he was annoyed with what he saw, he grunted crossly upon returning and scuttled through the front door. “Mink” was all he said. Sure enough, there stood the rare sight, hopping from one foot to the other anxiously and full to bursting with unexpected gossip.   
      Mrs. Beaver stared astonished for a moment before shaking her head and seating herself back at the table. “Come along, dear. Your dinner’s getting cold.” However, Eilonwy didn’t obey. Instead, she scooted closer to the window and pressed her forehead against the chilly glass. Past the crisscrossed muntin of the frosted windows, she could barely make out the plump form of Mr. Beaver and that of the wirey Mink. Despite her attempts, it was impossible to make out what they were saying nor was it as easy to read their body language. From what she had seen, though, she could deduce that Mink was surely in the midst of one of his spells, rambling nonsense with exhausting enthusiasm. It was very rare for the anxious little creature to leave his home but it was fully understood that whenever he did, it was for good reason.   
      The two creatures stood outside for a decent ten or so minutes, Mink’s blurred figure hopping about and waving his arms frantically. No matter how hard Eilonwy pressed her ear against the glass, she was unable to hear any fragments of the conversation. With a defeated huff, she slumped down in her seat and awaited Mr. Beaver’s return. However, as Mink departed, Mrs. Beaver and the young girl could faintly hear his eager farewell shouts: “The time of change is near at hand! Prepare yourselves! Near at hand!” Eilonwy’s stomach grew uneasy.  
      As Mr. Beaver toddled back inside, it was obvious his mentality had been greatly disrupted. The corners of his mouth tugged upwards and his eyes glimmered with genuine hope. Mrs. Beaver noticed it immediately, her eyes widening and her breath hitching in her throat. “Whatever did he want, dear?”, she asked meekly, twiddling her paws. Mr. Beaver didn’t speak a word, shakily seating himself at the table.  
      Heart pounding, Eilonwy approached quickly and knelt beside him, her face stark white. “Wind currents, ” he began, his voice hoarse and weak. “Something about wind currents. It’s warmer, he said. Not much, but slightly still.” His eyes remained locked on the table in disbelief, staring into space. Mrs. Beaver’s paw lifted to her mouth as she glanced from her husband to Eilonwy and back. They sat together in silence for a moment more before Mr. Beaver finally lifted his gaze to the women before him. “He thinks that Aslan is on the move.”   
      _Aslan_. Eilonwy lurched forward slightly, hand flying to her mouth as a gag caught in her throat.  _Aslan._  The word repeated itself in her head and a tingling sensation enveloped her fingers, then her arms, then slowly entrenched her entire body. Meanwhile, Mrs. Beaver’s eyes sparkled as a grin spread across her lips.   
      “My goodness! Do you think it’s really true? Do you think he’s really to return?”, she rambled excitedly with a soft clapping of her paws. Her husband shook his head.   
      “I can’t say. All I know is that when Mink swears by something, you better believe it. He’s never wrong, you know. And come to think of it, it has been feeling a slight bit warmer.”  
      Slowly, Eilonwy’s disbelief transformed into rage. Slamming her fist on the table, she shot bolt upright, her head nearly banging the roof of the tiny dam. “I can’t believe you! You think just because some lunatic claims epiphany, automatically it’s the truth? It’s been a hundred years! There’s no use lying to yourselves any longer!” With a vehement huff, Eilonwy glanced between the two Beavers before storming out of the house. She didn’t dare look back before urging Everlast forward and speeding into the night.   
      There have been very few times when Eilonwy felt as careless as she did now. Racing forward, she gripped Everlast’s mane tightly and bit her lip until blood surfaced. A lump caught in her throat as if she was about to cry. The only sounds consuming her now were that of pounding hooves and her own heartbeat. She couldn’t have cared less how far she traveled, how fast, or even where she’d end up. Instead, her mind was trapped in an unconscious haze which she was stirred from only when they reached a small cliff in the wood. Everlast skidded, frightened by the shallow drop, and Eilonwy was flung from the mare’s back and breathlessly launched into the snow with a great thud.   
      With a grunt and a sniffle, she glared back at the horse before leaning her head back upon a tree trunk and finally releasing a soft sob. Her hands were shaking but for the first time in a long time, the temperature wasn’t to blame. She drew her knees up to her chest like a small child and shut her eyes tight, halfheartedly hoping for at least one tiny tear.   
      It only took a moment before she accepted the reality that she was not going to cry. With a solemn sigh, she ran her fingers through her hair and reached into the bag at her side, retrieving a crumpled page from an ancient tome. It still emanated the same musty odor she had grown to adore, the fine penmanship still dark as ebony despite it’s age. She ran her fingers over the words as she read the brief scripture to herself.

     A fury rose from deep within her as she violently ripped the page to shreds. “ _Adam’s flesh and Adam’s bone_ , my ass!”, she shouted, slamming the bits into the snow and crushing them until they created a frigid paste. The prophecy ingrained in her mind meant nothing. It was all a scam, an artfully devised plan to build false hope in the minds of dumb animals. There would be no salvation from this frigid hell. Aslan was a shameful coward, a disgrace. Eilonwy would’ve rightly spit in his eye rather than worship him like she knew all the others planned. If he was truly their savior, if he truly cared, he never would’ve let his people suffer for so long.   
      Wiping her dripping nose upon her sleeve, she gave the destroyed prophecy one more look before her gaze lifted to the ice castle upon the horizon. It glistened turquoise in the moonlight, a crystalline stalagmite pretentiously protruding from the earth. She could only stare at it for mere seconds at a time before a strong pang of pain hit her chest and prevented her from gazing further. She hated that eyesore and everything it stood for, the freedom it had so carelessly stolen. In her nightmares, she imagined shattering it with a massive sword, slicing right through the center of it to watch the shards radiate and puncture her skin.    
     As the night progressed, Eilonwy’s eyes grew heavier until she ultimately slipped into a hollow slumber. By now, her limbs had grown numb from the cold and imaginary needles poked at her skin until everything faded into the blackness of her subconscious. She didn’t dream so often as she simply existed, a weightless soul caught in the confines of her own personal purgatory, bouncing between the blackness and floating through the night. However, this night did not bring her the same blissful apathy. Instead, she found herself thrust into the throes of a violent nightmare.  
      The visions came in flashes– great epileptic flares of memory and imagination alike. A shimmering silver apple fell to the snow, a bite mark revealing it’s magenta flesh. Dead bodies were heaped in corners of immaculate rooms, their blood pooling to stain the marble floors. Standing before the corpses was the vision of a tall, pale figure– a piercing icicle. Everything blurred at the sound of an echoed battle cry, paws clawing at ivory flesh until it stung and drained. The hazy reflection of a girl, emaciated and in heavy contrast, stared back at her until the glass shattered and sliced through her skin. Then came fur– the soft warmth of it brushing against her cheek and encircling her, as uncharacteristic as it seemed. Fur was not a luxury to caress; it was dangerous. It was wolves hunting in the twilight. Suddenly the fluffy material thickened into cold, coarse chain mail pressing with great force against her bare chest and the pace of her heart quickened. Clashing swords rung in her ears, forcing her to smother her head in her arms to dull the sharpness of the sound. Her entire body began convulsing, whether from the cold or anxiety, and then from the haze came a vision of sapphire eyes boring holes into her soul. Her stomach lurched at the sight of them, her head dizzy, until they finally disappeared behind the roar of an almighty Lion pouncing upon her helpless, unconscious body.   
      Eilonwy awoke breathless, her face dewy with sweat, as the morning sun beat down upon her. Everlast stomped the ground and whinnied, shaking her head as a cloud of air puffed from her nostrils. Her stomach felt hollow and her hands were weak, yet she reminded herself everything was fine. The woods were the same as they had always been: bare, blank, and motionless. She tied her tangled hair away from her face and journeyed home. 


	2. Prologue

     Within the following triad of days, the wood buzzed with talk of Aslan and the prophecy. Birds twittered hopeful melodies of springtime and cherry blossoms, the trees quivered in anticipation of clothing themselves once more in lush leaves. Even the rivers seemed to ignite, hungry to break free from beneath their scab and bleed. Everything was electrified with excitement except for one particular soul. 

      Eilonwy tightened her grip on Everlast’s mane as her ears rang with the songs of the forest.  _Aslan this, Aslan that– are there any realists left in the world?_ , she thought to herself grumpily. Directing Everlast forward, she journeyed back to Beaversdam. As she went, her mind wandered back to that night with Mink and his ramblings. If it hadn’t been for that godforsaken little creature, the whole of Narnia would never have grown obsessed with such an outlandish rumor. However, her cynicism made her the obvious minority as she ventured through Allies’ Enclave.   
      Beaversdam was a haven to ears exhausted of hearing the same redundant chatter. Slamming the door behind her, Eilonwy relished in the beauty of silence. The Beavers wouldn’t be home for hours on account of Beaver and Badger’s weekly poker tournaments. She was completely and wonderfully alone. With a soft, pleasured sigh, she stripped herself bare, tossing her dirtied kirtle upon the rocking chair, and bathed herself by the fireplace. Pampering herself was rare; whatever alone time she could scavenge was incredibly valuable to her for that very reason. Once clean, she wrapped herself in a woolen blanket and fashioned herself a cup of tea before slipping into a fresh dress and cozying herself by the bookshelf. Thumbing through the Beavers’ collection, she finally settled upon an ancient tome filled with old myths and settled down for a quiet indulgence. She had only been seated a short while when a knock at the door stirred her from her leisure. With a frustrated sigh, she hoisted herself from the chair and approached the entry.   
      As quickly as she turned the knob, a pair of hooves frantically pattered against the earthen floor and into the house. Wringing the frayed ends of his scarf in his hands, the faun looked upon Eilonwy with a panicked expression. “Where are the Beavers? Are they home? Oh, no matter, you’ll do just as well. I’m a horrible faun. A terrible, awful, horrible faun!”   
     Eilonwy watched Tumnus with wide eyes as she slowly shut the door behind her. Never had she seen him this distraught, which definitely said something for all the years they had been friends. Motioning for him to sit, she approached the creature with great concern. “Tumnus, whatever are you talking about? Sit down and by all means,  _please_  calm yourself.” But Tumnus couldn’t relax. Instead, he paced the dam, his hooves tapping steadfastly upon the floor as he twirled the loose ends of his scarf around his fingers. His face had grown paler than virgin snow, his eyes welled with tears.   
      Shaking his head, he muttered, “It’s all wrong, all of it. She knows. She must know. Oh, she’ll have me by my hooves if she–”  
      “Tumnus!” Eilonwy shouted, gripping his shoulders with great strength. Finally, he paused and looked her in the eyes, on the verge of crumbling.   
     “Who knows what?” she asked sternly, her eyes stone cold in focus. The faun trembled in her firm grasp before collapsing into a nearby chair and breaking down into a fit of tears.  
      “The White Witch! She knows! She knows and will certainly have me punished for it!”, he cried. With a sigh, Eilonwy dropped into the seat beside him and waited for him to quit his blubbering. Instead, he shakily opened his fist to reveal a crumpled hankerchief and laid it upon the table. The small square of fabric was pristine white with delicate lace trim along the edges. In the lower corner was the name “Lucy” embroidered in periwinkle thread. Eilonwy’s eyes landed on the hanky a moment before shifting back to the hysterical Tumnus.   
      “Where did you get that? Give it here!”, she said, snatching it up from the table for inspection. The linen was cool and crisp beneath her fingers, spotless as if it had never been used. A wave of panic washed over her body in the form of a quick shiver.   
      “It’s proof of my crime! Surely I haven’t much time now”, he wailed, his ears drooping. With quivering breath, his glossy eyes turned to Eilonwy and he whispered weakly, “I’ve been fraternizing…with a human…”   
      For a moment, Eilonwy stared at him awkwardly, brows furrowed. “Well, of course you have. We’ve been friends for years, I–”, she started before Tumnus clipped her sentence short.  
      “I mean… _another_  human…”  
      Eilonwy froze. There hadn’t been any other humans in Narnia for a hundred years. The only other plausible conclusion was that of travelers passing through from neighboring countries, but no one dared to step foot in Jadis’s dominion and risk execution. The prophecy rang in her mind:  _When Adam’s flesh and Adam’s bone sits at Cair Paravel in throne, the evil time will be over and done_. Sons of Adam, daughters of Eve, the warming climate, Mink’s tirade– everything interconnected. Whisperings among the trees from her journey home echoed in her ears, hushed comments regarding a daughter of Eve in the wood. She had simply written them off as cruel remarks about herself, but now she knew they were much more than that. Eilonwy’s stomach churned and her hands began to tremble.  
      “At first I thought she might have been some sort of…beardless dwarf…but no. She’s a little girl. A wee girl much younger than yourself. She…she was so kind and innocent. I couldn’t dare turn her over,” Tumnus elaborated. A hopeless smile flashed upon his face. “She had this button nose…her eyes were so bright and tender. Lucy Pevensie, she said her name was. She made me feel warmer than I had in a hundred years.”   
      A pang of pain struck Eilonwy’s chest as she envisioned the human in question. A cheery young girl pranced through her head, full of joy and free of cares, like that of a baby bird. Completely oblivious to the harsh cruelty of the real world. She would be so easy to dispose of. She would never see it coming. The ideation reminded Eilonwy of herself as a child. Her heart caught in her throat. An overwhelming angst enveloped her.   
      Slamming the hanky back upon the table, Eilonwy rose from her seat and shook her head. “Tumnus, don’t you see what’s happening here?! You’re delusional! All this talk of Aslan and the prophecy– it’s sacrificing your sanity!” she erupted. Tumnus stared back at her in terror, shaking his head, rejecting her claims. “You only  _think_  you encountered some daughter of Eve, but you didn’t! There are  _no humans in Narnia!_  I would know!”   
      Taken aback, Tumnus’s face contorted in horror. “I-I know what I saw, Ellie…I know she’s been here…she’s….she’s my friend. She’s real, I know she is. Where else would the hanky have come from?” he spoke softly, as if afraid to trigger another quake of rage. Eilonwy’s eyes darted back to the hanky again, her breathing heavy, tendrils of hair falling in her face. She remained motionless for a good few minutes, silent, as her eyes burned holes into the little scrap of fabric. The tension jelled.   
     Finally, she spoke. “Get out”, she murmured painfully, refusing to meet Tumnus’s gaze. His eyes softened in bewilderment as he began to tremble.   
      “W-what…?”  
      “I said get out”, she repeated. Eilonwy’s face began to redden, her fists clenching at her sides. “You’re unwell. You need your rest. Go home to nurse your sanity, Tumnus. Please.” Regardless of her true intentions, she couldn’t prevent sounding harsh and cruel towards the poor faun. Rising from his seat uneasily, he pleaded in broken sentences for Eilonwy to soften her stance and just  _listen_. The little girl’s presence in the woods was undeniable, the hanky on the table as solid evidence. Despite the proof staring back at her, Eilonwy still didn’t feel obligated to believe. The endless chatter of creatures outside swelled. Her hands gripped at her hair, nostrils flaring. Everything was growing warmer, her face growing redder. Her senses drowned until finally she quelled the unforgiving storm. “Get out!”   
      Her scream shook the chandelier above the table, the flames of the candles flickering. Everything silenced. Tumnus clasped his hands against his chest, a sob rising in his throat he didn’t dare release. Eilonwy collapsed into the nearest chair and silently covered her face in her hands. Bowing his head, the faun hesitantly headed for the front door. The sad patter of his hooves overwhelmed her with guilt. He glanced back only once, simply murmuring in a low, cracking tone, “If I am captured…you’re very dear to me, Ellie” before departing for home.   
      A melancholy sigh passed her lips as the door shut softly behind Tumnus. Glancing through the window, the glass perfectly framed his sad little moonlit return home. Eilonwy bit her lip, her teeth grazing the scab from days before. She desperately wanted to trust his words, yet she was growing so weary of everyone’s rising obsession. No one seemed to understand that the prophecy was a blatant lie, that Aslan was a fraud and that there would be no salvation from this bitter cold. Whatever sins they had committed, they would atone for until the stars rained from the heavens and the world crumbled to ash beneath their flame.   
      Eilonwy’s eyes remained locked on the faun until he disappeared into the trees, and even stared on moments after. Then, with a sad sigh, she rose from the kitchen chair and approached her small alcove of a bedroom. Curling up on the lumpy mattress, she cocooned herself within the well-loved quilts, a mountain of pillows surrounding her, and drifted off to sleep. The hanky laid untouched upon the kitchen table. 

      An unnatural silence fell upon the Western Wood as Eilonwy ventured through the snow. Not a single creature scurried past or perched themselves on branches. The whole of the land was eerily still and lifeless. In the silence, Eilonwy’s mind wandered to Tumnus. Within the days following his hysteria, she found herself constantly chewing over his plea and contemplating the significance of the hanky he had left behind. When she awoke the morning after, it had disappeared from the table.   
      She had been friends with Tumnus long enough to know he wasn’t a slanderous faun but even if he was, what motive did he have to lie? He did nothing to deserve such a malicious response. As Everlast trotted through the quiet forest, Eilonwy immediately decided an apology was in order. Redirecting the mare, she galloped towards Tumnus’s house. Fresh tracks ran alongside them in the snow.  
      “Tumnus? I know you’re upset with me, but I–”, she began, dismounting, but her breath was quickly stolen from her lungs. Before her, Tumnus’s friendly cottage was in shambles. The ornate door had been unhinged, the windows shattered. Inside, his belongings had been strewn about carelessly and smashed upon the carpet. A page of parchment was pegged to a rocky column and signed with a paw print. Eilonwy didn’t bother reading the message in full. The only thing that mattered to her now was the sole fact that amongst the wreckage, Tumnus was nowhere to be found. 


	3. Chapter Two

      Panic engulfed her as Eilonwy urged Everlast forward, the frigid wind whipping at her face. A lump had secured itself firmly in her throat as sweaty palms gripped the horse’s mane. Tumnus’s pained expression, his teary eyes and quivering lip, was ingrained in her mind. Within a mere week, everything she refused to believe was suddenly contaminating her entire life. Now she was running barefoot across the sharp remnants of destroyed stability. Words were one thing but an arrest made the situation all the more dire. Hardly anyone ever escaped the White Witch’s icy grasp and lived to tell the tale.   


      The moment the trees petered out, Eilonwy jolted from Everlast’s back and darted towards Beaversdam. Gasping for breath, she swung the door open and stumbled onto the floor, her entire body trembling violently. “B-Beavers! It’s…it’s Tumnus! He–!”, she stammered but the words clogged her throat.   
      Mrs. Beaver rushed to her side, concern painting her face. She guided Eilonwy to an empty chair and placed a gentle paw upon her shoulder, taking the girls hand in her other. “Ellie, dear, come now. Just breathe. What’s happened?”  
      With a despicable wail, Eilonwy wrapped her free arm around her stomach and began rocking back and forth. Whatever words she could manage came in clipped sentences, her voice cracking painfully at the burden of simply speaking. “Mr. Tumnus, he’s…J-Jadis…she…Tumnus…arrested!”  
      Both Beavers’ eyes widened at the fragmented message. Tumnus was just as much their friend as he was Eilonwy’s, perhaps even more. The couple fell silent. Eilonwy’s stomach lurched.   
      “Might this have something to do with it?”, Mr. Beaver asked, finally breaking the silence. From between two dusty tomes, he pulled the hanky from the bookshelf. Biting her lip, Eilonwy gave a minute nod, staring at the embroidered linen with wide, anxious eyes. Mrs. Beaver tilted her head curiously as she stared at the scrap of fabric.   
      “Tumnus, he…he left it behind last he was here. He said…he said it belonged to a young girl he had met. Lucy Pevensie. A…a human”, she murmured. Mr. Beaver nodded solemnly, placing the hanky upon the table. Staring back at her, it made a mockery of her poor judgment. She could almost hear it’s maniacal laughter. Another sob escaped her throat.   
      “Badger had mentioned of another human spotted in the wood just the other night”, Mrs. Beaver added eagerly. They were multiplying, it seemed. An unstoppable force, a consistent trickle providing preview for an impending flood. Mr. Beaver snorted and motioned towards the bookshelf.   
      “If the prophecies are true, there ought to be four of those cheeky little blighters around here”, he responded. His word choice normally would’ve amused Eilonwy but for now, resolution was the only certain cure for her panic. That is, resolution and the restoration of her emotional security. Placing his paws on the table, Mr. Beaver continued to say, “Either way, I heard talk of Aslan already preparing an army at the Stone Table. Whether you’re ready or not, the White Witch’s reign is nearing it’s end.”   
      Mrs. Beaver’s eyes glimmered with excitement at the idea. To think: in a short while, the whole of Narnia would once again be lush and lively and green. Eilonwy was stricken. It had been so long since she had felt the itch of grass beneath her feet and waxy leaves brush against her skin. Another shiver racked her entire body.   
      Paying one last glance to the hysterical human, Mr. Beaver rose from his seat and collected the hanky from atop the kitchen table. “Where do you think you’re going?”, his wife questioned, pinning him with a suspicious glare as her husband approached the door.  
      “I’ve got some errands to take care of but don’t worry, love, I’ll be back by supper”, he reassured before scurrying out the front door.  
      “Be careful, dear!”, Mrs. Beaver called after him. Her husband simply flashed her a quick smile and nod before slamming the door shut and galloping down through the snow. Both women watched until he disappeared into the trees, then Mrs. Beaver toddled towards the stove. “How about I make you a nice steaming cup of tea, alright?”, she offered. All Eilonwy could muster was a nod.  
      With a tired sigh, she ran her shaking hands through her hair and extended her arms out across the tabletop. A dizzying array of concerns ricocheted against her skull as she stared off into space. Her life was falling apart like ice cracking beneath her feet and she was powerless to stop it. Certainly she had dreamt of the day when Jadis’s reign would end but everything seemed so much simpler when that was all it was: a dream. Now that such an ideation was finally becoming a reality, the abrupt change was overwhelming.   
      The more she mulled over her rapidfire thoughts, a strong sensation began to bubble up from deep inside of her. As the whistle of the teapot escalated, the feeling grew hotter and hotter until it suddenly electrified her entire body and Eilonwy swiftly rose from her chair.  
      “I need to go. I can’t just sit here”, she spat, snatching her sword and satchel from the corner in one swift motion. Mrs. Beaver shot her a concerned look.   
      “You absolutely do not! It’s too dangerous out there, you can’t go alone. Just sit and drink your tea and you’ll feel better,” she commanded but Eilonwy was already out the door. With a defeated sigh, Mrs. Beaver slumped into the nearest chair and rubbed at her temples. “Ooh, this girl is bound to give me a migraine.”   
      With furrowed brows, Eilonwy disappeared into the sea of evergreens. The crisp air nipped at her skin as she darted through the snow, a dark shadow against the stark white expanse. Unsheathing her sword, she began viciously hacking at the trunks of a few nearby trees, grunting with each exertion of force. She didn’t care much how the trees felt anyways, ignoring their wooden cries. Most of them were the witch’s spies anyways. Once she had left a considerable number of hacks in their bark, she jammed her sword back into it’s case and ascended the branches. The crisp air from high above was refreshing, laced with the aroma of neighboring pines, and she inhaled deeply as if to absorb all it had to offer.   
      To the east, Cair Paravel glistened like a distant star, vacant and brimming with desire. Eilonwy remembered a time when the halls were filled with melodic laughter, silks swishing like seawater as past monarchs paraded down sunlit corridors. As sweet a vision as it was, it left a bitter taste in her mouth that even a swig of ale couldn’t cure. Soon the castle would be alive again with the residency of foreign strangers rather than royal blood. Eilonwy seethed at the thought.  
      Strolling through the wood late that afternoon, Eilonwy turned her attention to the enflamed sky. As the golden sun dipped behind the mountains and stained the sky red, she thought of Aslan and a shiver raced down her spine. Visions of her sister entered her brain, curled up by the window studying his gospel. She spoke of him fondly in hushed, happy tones but even then, Eilonwy never understood how the silly girl could worship him so profusely. Now, she viewed the belief with more contempt than confusion. It boggled her mind how someone so selfish and negligent could consider themselves a worthy leader.   
      Night swept the land and the sky quickly faded to a deep purple. Leaning her head back, Eilonwy admired the stars dappling the sky above her head. it was the clearest of winter nights and with each exhale, a puff of breath disintegrated into the air like dragon’s smoke. Once magical, now the visual representation seemed more like a joke, as if constantly reminding her she was still dreadfully alive. She dug into the snow with the tip of her boot and chuckled sadly. The prospect of everything melting made her ashamedly apprehensive. After all, one never knows what they may uncover beneath blankets of snow. A plethora of mysteries lurked beneath it’s frigid coat.   
      From afar, a faint crunching drew Eilonwy from her thoughts and her hand flew to the hilt of her sword defensively. Wedging herself between a cluster of trees, she squinted into the darkness to find the vision of a young boy stomping through the snow. Arms crossed, she could faintly hear him muttering something beneath his breath. From what she could see of his clothes, Eilonwy deduced he was probably complaining of the cold for his outfit wasn’t exactly the most economical in retaining heat. Her eyes followed his perceived path until landing right upon the pair of sharp peaks in the distance.   
      _What the hell are you doing?_ , she thought to herself. Her mind erupted with frustrated shouts for him to turn around, to stop what he was doing, and by all means, to put on some damn clothes. Certainly he must’ve been on some sort of suicide mission. If he hadn’t died of hypothermia first, continuing onward would’ve led him right into the claws of the devil herself.   
      Eilonwy watched a moment more before her attention was diverted by yet another group of sounds, this time layered and loud. With heart rate increasing, she peered through the branches to spy a squabbling trio rushing through the snow. Breath hitching in her throat, she pressed her back against the trunk to compose herself a moment. She wasn’t quite sure what she expected, but it certainly wasn’t this. Despite their fur disguises, they were all undeniably human– the four prophesied humans.   
      Drawing in a sharp breath, Eilonwy cast her hood over her face and unsheathed her sword. Then, in one swift motion, she pounced from behind the brush, the tip of her blade mere inches from her target. “Halt, strangers, or face the wrath of my blade,” she commanded in a much deeper tone. Frozen in their tracks, a collective gasp rose from the human’s throats and now that she was closer, Eilonwy could certainly view them better.   
      Though he had nothing to defend himself with, the eldest shoved his younger sisters behind his back protectively. “We don’t mean any harm! We’re just looking for our brother!”, he stammered. His eyes brimmed with genuine fear and he exuded a particular vulnerability that nearly made Eilonwy pity him. _Nearly._  
      “Your brother, eh? He wouldn’t happen to be rather cranky and half naked, would he?”, she jested. The trio shifted uncomfortably, obviously unamused. In their deepest fears, the cloaked stranger before them was surely some accomplice to the witch. Their worst expectations involved her gutting them like fish should she be given the chance. Eilonwy didn’t care enough to bother with such trivial punishments. Once she had her fun, she would let them fend for themselves until the harsh winter had done it’s deed and left them ragged and stiff. At least, until she noticed something white and bordered with lace peeking from the youngest girl’s pocket.   
      With widening eyes, Eilonwy lowered her sword slightly and whispered Lucy’s name, her hood sliding back a smidge to reveal the maiden’s face. The sound of her name instantly grabbed the little one’s attention, her head snapping up to make eye contact with their opponent. The two eldest were taken aback by Eilonwy’s unexpected gender while closer to the ground, a stout figure began elbowing their way to the front of the pack.  
      “Eilonwy, is that you? Just what do you think you’re doing? That is no way to treat our future kings and queens!”, Mrs. Beaver scolded, wagging a finger up at her adoptive daughter. Eilonwy stammered awkwardly, taken aback by the Beavers sudden presence, before finally responding.   
      “Future kings and queens? They can’t even keep track of their own family, let alone an entire country!”, she spat out. From behind the commotion, the eldest let out a frustrated sigh before whipping around to march right towards the White Witch’s castle. For all he knew, their brother may have already been dead and quite frankly, Eilonwy was wasting their time. With the Beavers’ attention diverted, it provided the siblings with the perfect opportunity to sneak away towards the witch’s castle. His sisters followed loyally behind him. Beside his wife, Mr. Beaver caught sight of their departure and chased after them with a gasp, hooking onto the eldest boy’s wrist and tugging him backwards.   
      “Get off me!”, he shouted, trying to wiggle free of the Beaver’s unforgiving grasp. His sisters recoiled, uncertainty painting their faces. From behind, Mrs. Beaver gripped Eilonwy’s hand as if she was a small child and led her along to join the rest of the group. It was never her intention to become so involved, yet now she was being dragged into the commotion. Breaking free of Mrs. Beaver’s grasp, she crossed her arms to watch the scene unfold.   
      “We can’t just let him go! He’s our brother!”, Lucy pleaded, glancing towards the castle uncomfortably.  
      Mr. Beaver shook his head and tried to reason with them. “Don’t you see? He’s the bait! The witch wants all four of you!”   
      “But why?”, the eldest boy asked.   
      “To stop the prophecy from coming true! To kill you!”, Mr. Beaver shouted. The danger of death silenced them all immediately, as if painting their circumstance with vivid reality. A tense and terrified energy reverberated amongst all of them, electrifying their bodies with raw fear. Eyes locked upon Jadis’s imperial residence, the tension thickened until the eldest girl suddenly erupted in a fit of angst.   
      Motioning her hands wildly, she spewed shout after shout in her older brother’s direction, swearing it was all his fault and that they should have left while they still could. Through her shouts, Eilonwy picked up that the boy’s name, apparently, was Peter. Not wanting to get involved, she inched away from the argument to pay a glance of her own towards Jadis’s castle. It seemed so much grander now and an uncomfortable tingle enveloped her body at the close proximity. She couldn’t help but think to herself how outrageously stupid the whining boy must be to have crawled so willingly into the White Witch’s clutches, yet she had to remind herself of how deathly persuasive the woman was. Her jade eyes could see through even the thickest of walls and the aroma wafting from her pale skin was intoxicating. Eilonwy’s stomach rose into her throat at the vivid memory, gratefully broken from her thoughts by a shout from little Lucy that silenced her sibling’s fight. A small smirk graced Eilonwy’s face at the child’s dominance. Perhaps this little girl wasn’t as weak as Eilonwy originally expected her to be.   
      “This isn’t going to help Edmund,” she reminded her siblings. They all gazed longingly towards the icy palace.  
      “She’s right,” Mr. Beaver added gravely. “Only Aslan can help your brother now.” A poetic silence fell upon all of them, the burden of their situation increasing in weight upon their shoulders. Lucy gazed up at her siblings, clasping her hands to her chest. The eldest girl extended a trembling hand to grasp that of her brother’s. In the distance, the massive doors of Jadis’s castle creaked open and an ant-sized Edmund slipped inside, and that was the end of that. There was no turning back. The trio’s hearts sunk in unison.  
      Paying one last glance to the palace, Peter then turned his gaze back to Mr. Beaver. “Then take us to him.” The creature nodded solemnly, extending the silence for a moment more before motioning for everyone to follow him.   
“We better get a move on, then, if we want to make it to the Stone Table by tomorrow’s nightfall”, he announced, trudging through the snow. The rest followed close behind. Eilonwy hesitated. Upon realizing the girl had yet to move, Mr. Beaver paused and turned to face her, triggering everyone else to do the same. She shifted uneasily as their eyes burned holes into her skin. “Well? Are you coming or not?”  
      One more moment of uncertainty. Glancing from one face to the next, a strange sensation rose from deep inside of her. It was a harsh, unforgiving feeling– as if someone had dove through her skin and firmly clamped her chest. It was almost, perhaps, a sense of…purpose; an involuntary longing she refused to admit. She tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword, palms sweaty and tingling. Narrowing her eyes, she inhaled deeply and absorbed the images staring back at her. Mrs. Beaver was brimming with hope and suspense, her husband glaring frustratedly as he awaited her answer. All three of the humans gazed nervously, biting their lips and clasping one another’s hands. With a huff, Eilonwy vigorously sheathed her sword. A grin of relief crossed Mrs. Beaver’s face as the maiden trudged her way towards the group. While she was unsure of what lie ahead, there was an undeniable magnetism compelling her into the lives of these fateful humans, however unwilling she was to participate.   
      The trek back to Beaversdam was filled with the heavy silence of those lost deep in thought. Eilonwy stared at the humans ahead of her, catching fragments of their whispered conversations. Being in their presence was bizarre. Having been isolated from her own kind for so long, she was almost unsure if she even still understood them. Lucy glanced back at her a moment from the front of the group, a small smile crossing her face. After a few minutes had passed, she swung her way to the back to walk alongside the wayward maiden. While undeniably adorable, Eilonwy shifted slightly in discomfort at the little girl’s presence. Behind everyone else’s backs, a thin veil of intimacy enveloped the two and they journeyed onward in a long, awkward silence.  
      “What is your name, again?”, Lucy finally asked, breaking the silence, as she looked curiously up at the young woman.   
      “Eilonwy,” she stated curtly. The eldest girl instantly quieted and stiffened attentively. Eilonwy furrowed her brow and glanced over at her, confusion flashing across her face.   
      “Susan, wasn’t that name in a story you once told me? The one with all the funny words?”, Lucy questioned, peering towards her sister before them. The two elder siblings glanced back at them, Susan’s face filled with eerie recognition.   
      With a minute nod, she replied, “In John Rhys’s _Celtic Folklore_. Chapter two, Revenge of the Fairies. Eilonwy was the daughter of a mermaid who married one of the most infamous knights.” A strange sensation overcame the three of them that neither were really sure the purpose of. Perhaps it was because the name was only mentioned thrice and Susan was astonished at how her younger sister had remembered it, or perhaps it was due to the mother’s unrealistic species that made her uncomfortable. Regardless, Susan’s face had diminished to a ghostly pallor as she shivered away her thoughts.  
      “You’re not a mermaid, are you?”, Lucy questioned with an amused giggle. Eilonwy shook her head vigorously. Peter glanced back at them before gazing upon his sister with a chuckle.  
      “Susan, you look like you’ve seen a ghost”, he remarked. She simply shot her brother a glare before rubbing her arms and averting her eyes. The words of the tale in question were floating through her mind and she was reminded of the grave circumstances in which the character Eilonwy and her knightly husband had met. She had thrown herself into the sea after the death of her mother, where she was saved by the knight who carried her off on a steed to wed. While the gesture was romantic and reminded her of another (much more favored) fairytale, coming upon a young woman bearing the same unusual name befuddled her. After the day she had faced thus far, though, nothing should’ve phased her. A quiet night in her own bed back in Finchley was beginning to sound more and more inviting, regardless of how impossible.   
      As the dam came into view below, the group began their descent down the snowy hill. Lucy clutched at the strap of Eilonwy’s satchel as she stumbled down the steep decline, having lost her footing a bit along the way and grappling for something to support herself with. Eilonwy was taken aback by the sudden grab, involuntarily jerking away, leaving Peter to swoop in and catch the little girl instead.   
      “Ought to go pack some snacks and the like and be on our way,” Mr. Beaver said as they approached the dam. However, halfway down the hill, Eilonwy stopped stone cold in her tracks and all the color drained from her already pale face.   
      “Wait! Do you hear that…?”, she whispered, her index finger pointed as if to silence the others. Glancing around the wood, she listened for the ever growing sound, ushering everyone else to pause and strain their ears. Howls and growls echoed from nearby that to the untrained, may have sounded like simple neighborhood dogs. However, Eilonwy knew better. The sound increased in volume, collectively amping everyone’s heartbeats and coursing their blood. The source was undeniable. Dispersing from Jadis’s castle came her ruthless army of wolves. Despite whatever arguments had ensued earlier, in that moment, the entire group unanimously agreed that the only thing left to do now was run.


	4. Chapter Three

      Bursting through the front door, the entire dam was immediately engulfed in chaos. Mrs. Beaver sprinted for the kitchen, rummaging through cabinets and packing away parcels of food for the journey. Her husband rushed towards the bookshelf, Peter helping him to shove aside a large wooden table. Beneath it was a trap door that, upon swinging open, revealed a rope leading into an underground tunnel. Susan snatched away a kerosene lamp before descending, her brother lighting a spare stick at the fireplace. An intense clawing rattled the roof, paws digging holes into the dam’s exterior and snouts shoving their way through the openings. Lucy gasped, her eyes darting at each sound, as Peter rushed up behind her and guided her into the tunnel.

      With hunched backs, the group darted single file through the dusty corridor, their thumping chests providing the soundtrack for their steadfast journey. An uprooted branch caught hold of Lucy’s leg and sent her tumbling into the dirt, freezing everyone in their tracks. Barking echoed against the dirt walls. The girl’s eyes widened.  
      “They’re in the tunnel…” she whispered fearfully. After scooping her up, the six rushed towards the exit as quickly as anyone hunched over like they were can. Bookending the group, Peter raised his torch so as to light the way, urging everyone out before him. Once everyone had escaped, he nodded his head, motioning Eilonwy to follow. Instead, she eyed him with suspicion and perhaps a tinge of insult.   
      “Is this really the time for chivalry?” she questioned, glancing over her shoulder to estimate the wolves’ location. With rapid, impatient movements, Peter began motioning for her to ascend.   
      “You’re wasting time! Go!” he urged. With a frustrated huff and roll of her eyes, she hiked up her skirt and climbed towards the exit. She ceased to pay a backwards glance at Peter or assist in drawing him upward.   
      Once everyone had escaped, Peter helped Mr. Beaver roll a barrel of ale into the archway to block the wolves from following. Embraced by fear, Lucy reeled backwards until she tripped and stumbled into the snow, a gasp escaping her lips upon her startling discovery. Mr. Beaver’s face fell. Situated at Lucy’s feet was a gathering of small, stone creatures. A few feet away, Badger stood petrified, his horrific expression immortalized in rock. A sullen sigh passed Eilonwy’s lips as she strolled slowly through what once was a kindly gathering of small houses. Creatures she was once familiar with were now lifeless and still, reduced to frigid figurines.   
      From a nearby snowbank, a sudden movement quickly interrupted the grievances. Eilonwy instinctively drew her sword, prepared to slice whoever crossed their path. Everyone else froze. The blanket of snow bulged and crumbled until out from underneath came a small, oblong creature, the fur on his back bristling. Eyes darting frantically, Mink wrung his little hands together, consumed by panic. With a sigh of relief, Eilonwy sheathed her sword and knelt to the creature’s level.   
      “Beavers? Eilonwy? Oh, thank Aslan you’re alright! I was so concerned, I…” he gushed before his eyes fell upon the trio of humans towering before him. He gazed up at them with glimmering, affectionate eyes before rushing forward and hugging their legs. “Oh my stars, it’s you! You’re the ones! The prophecy is finally fulfilled! Our saviors!” he gushed before adding in confusion, “I must say, though, you all are much hairier than I expected you to be.” Susan furrowed her brows, almost insulted, before Lucy laughed and offered a kindhearted explanation. It was then that Mink finally realized: the humans standing before him were wearing mink coats. His eyes rolled back into his head at the revelation and he collapsed into the snow.   
      Meanwhile, Peter’s face remained sorrowful as he gazed upon the destroyed lives of the small, innocent creatures. “What happened here?”, he asked.   
      “This is what becomes of those who cross the witch,” an unfamiliar voice interrupted. From upon the terrace of a nearby cottage stood a sly fox staring upon them. The Pevensies recoiled, Peter once more shoving his sisters behind him protectively. Eilonwy’s hand flew to the hilt of her sword with narrowed eyes and clenched teeth. While there were plenty of foxes in the forest, they weren’t so frequent in Allies Enclave as they were further south near the Archenland border. Regardless, considering the petrified creatures, his presence was doubly suspicious.   
      Angered, Mr. Beaver stomped forward, fists clenched. “You take one more step, traitor, and I’ll chew you to splinters!” he threatened, his wife restraining him as best she could. The fox, however, remained unphased and gracefully hopped down from his perch.   
      “Relax! I’m one of the good guys” he reassured. “I want to help you, but we haven’t much time. Right now, we need to move.” Regardless of whatever unease the fox instilled in them, the howls and barks in the near distance only elaborated his point. With a sly smile, the fox mapped out his plan, scurrying towards a nearby tree and instructing them all to climb as high as they possibly could. Snatching the unconscious Mink by the nape of his neck, Eilonwy offered to climb first, followed by the Pevensies and Beavers. Jadis’s wolves poured in mere seconds after.   
      Teeth bared, they circled the fox and spewed threats in response to witty remarks and patronization. Lunging forward, one grasped the fox in his mouth, eliciting a yelp of pain from the creature and a gasp from the smallest Pevensie. Susan’s index finger flew to her lips as Peter clapped a hand over her mouth.   
      “Where are the fugitives?”, Maugrim, the captain, demanded. The fox averted his eyes, fangs digging into his back. Pain fought procrastination as he hesitated answering, the group’s heartbeats once again pounding in uniform speed. They endowed all their trust into this stranger, perhaps not very smartly, but now he was faced with a rather grave decision. Blood darkened his fur, the wolves threatening to tear his skin from his back should he refuse to reveal such valuable information.   
      Glancing downward, the fox finally spoke. “North. They ran north”, he admitted breathlessly. Having received what they needed, the pack tossed him carelessly into the snow and disappeared. As soon as they were a safe distance away, the group descended and approached the fox’s lifeless form. Susan held her sister close, urging her to cover her eyes.  
      “Is he…?” Lucy asked nervously. After handing Mink off to Mrs. Beaver, Eilonwy approached the unconscious creature. Upon inspecting him, she shook her head and hoisted him into her arms. A wave of relief washed over the group as the Beavers rushed to gather spare sticks for firewood. Resting the Fox in a patch of fresh snow, Eilonwy ripped away a portion of her hem to stifle the bleeding with until Mrs. Beaver scurried over to tend to the wounds. The Pevensies stared with great intrigue as they seated themselves in the snow and upon exposed roots. For someone who had so far come off so rude, they were surprised at how efficient and level-headed Eilonwy appeared in times of crisis, how fearless she seemed when dealing with blood. Little did they know she was accustomed to bandaging herself after especially nasty altercations and lifeless animals were a mainstay of her daily life.   
      As the embers burned, the Fox recounted the circumstances of the neighborhood’s tragedy between grunts and yelps. He explained the victims had been helping Tumnus escape before facing their ultimate demise, the faun proven difficult to arrest. A shiver ran down Eilonwy’s spine as she envisioned the chaos. Shooing away the thoughts, she leaned over and began searching her bag for a stale snack. Susan glanced over curiously, noticing the girl’s discomfort, before directing her attention back to the fox as he abruptly stood and bowed.   
      “I’m afraid that’s all the cure I have time for, but I thank you for your sincere generosity. It has been a pleasure, your majesties, and an honor, but time is short and Aslan himself has entrusted me with gathering more troops for his army”, he announced. A small smile spread across his face as the word _Aslan_ rolled off his tongue, triggering gasps and grins from the Beavers and curious expressions from the Pevensies.   
      “You’ve seen Aslan? Well, what’s he like?”, Mrs. Beaver questioned eagerly, clapping her hands together in excitement.   
      The Fox proudly replied, “Like everything you’ve heard and more. It will be an honor to have him by your side in the war against the witch.” Here, he turned to look at Peter, whose face had grown rather uncertain. In that moment, Eilonwy noticed something in him that tugged at her heartstrings, a certain sense of vulnerability. It wasn’t the kind that made him seem useless as she ashamedly thought before, but rather that which reminded her of just how young he must have been– no older than fifteen or sixteen.   
      Finally, Susan inserted herself into the conversation. “But we’re not planning on fighting any witch!”, she countered. She gazed toward the fox uncomfortably, perhaps slightly afraid of the prospect of war. With a tilt of his head, the Fox met her gaze with confusion and disappointment before turning nervously back to her brother.   
      “But surely King Peter…the prophecy…”   
      Now shifting uneasily, all eyes fell upon the eldest Pevensie as he averted his own. “We can’t go to war without you,” Mr. Beaver added. Lucy’s brows furrowed sadly as she viewed her brother. Susan looked onward with concern. After all, it wasn’t as if any of them had volunteered to march into battle and save the day. They entered Narnia with wide eyes full of wonder, eager to explore the magical land mapped out before them. They never expected to find such tragedy upon peeling back the frosted surface. Now the weight of an entire country’s fate was thrust upon their shoulders and Eilonwy was more certain than anyone that none of them were prepared for something this intense. However, watching Peter, she suddenly recognized a glimmer of something admirable in him. It was a protective quality, one that signaled he felt obligated to pursue such a massive task regardless of whether he was ready or not. Averting her eyes, Eilonwy shoved another oversized hunk of bread into her mouth.   
      After a moment of silence, the Fox gave a solemn nod before stamping his feet into the snow, preparing to depart. “Well, Aslan will be awaiting your arrival, your majesties. I truly hope you consider what is asked of you. Narnia’s fate rests in your hands,”  he stated. Then, glancing towards Eilonwy, a small smile glinted on his lips as he added, “And I’m sure Aslan will be pleased to hear of the princess’s alliance, as well. The hope of Narnia’s revival seems much brighter knowing you are beside our future kings and queens.”  
      Crumbs tumbling from her lips, Eilonwy’s eyes snapped up from her focus on the campfire, overstuffed mouth and all. Her face turned bright red as she swallowed hard and wiped her mouth with her sleeve, the Pevensies turning to stare at her in confusion. The Fox simply bowed towards the quartet before issuing his final goodbye and disappearing into the night.  
      “Princess?” Lucy asked curiously, an undercurrent of wonder in her voice. Head tilted, the remnants of a small smile began to tug at the corners of her lips. Eilonwy, however, was not so pleased.   
      “I bet he calls everyone that. I bet he thinks it’s rather funny,” she rambled in annoyance, rummaging through her satchel. She refused to make eye contact. Suddenly straightening her back, she then stated authoritatively, “It’s getting late. You should all get some sleep. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.” Rising from her seat, she swung her satchel up off the ground and began frantically pushing her way towards a nearby patch of open land. The space between Peter and the exposed root were narrow and as she tried to squeeze her way through, her hand consequently brushed against the eldest Pevensie’s in a manner so quick yet so strange that the girl’s face turned bright red. He mumbled a sheepish apology before Eilonwy snatched her hand away and rushed towards her targeted sleeping quarters.   
      The trio watched for a moment more before returning their attention back to the campfire. Susan rolled her eyes and leaned her arms against her knees, growing rather aggravated with Eilonwy’s attitude. Lucy, however, turned to look upon her brother, who glanced back at Eilonwy over his shoulder a moment before he noticed his little sister staring. An amused smile spread across her face but before she could say anything, Peter swung back around to face the fire and that was the end of that.   
      After a moment of silence, Mr. Beaver finally rose from his seat. “Eilonwy’s right. It’s a long trip to the stone table and I won’t be tolerating any jaw about being tired!” he announced before circling a patch of snow and lying down like a dog does before a nap. With a sigh, the Pevensies nodded and began repositioning themselves for a winter’s slumber.   
      Sleep, however, did not come easy. After all the madness that had ensued that night, Eilonwy was beginning to question her choices. The trip would be long and treacherous, exactly the kind of adventure she had been desperately craving, yet she was uncertain whether the purpose was really worth her while. She especially had no plans to forge attachments with such unnerving strangers. From her resting place, she tossed and turned until her ears picked up the sounds of a hushed conversation.   
      “Magic wardrobes, talking animals, and not a pillow in the entire country,” Susan complained softly, eyelids drooping from exhaustion. She had drawn her arms from the sleeves of her coat and wrapped the garment around herself like a blanket.   
      A sad smile painted Peter’s face as he brushed a stray strand of hair from Lucy’s face, her head resting in his lap as she snoozed peacefully. “All Mum asked me to do was look after all of you…and I couldn’t even do that,” he murmured. His eyes shifted from Lucy to the intertwined Beavers. “Let alone what they expect.”   
      Susan sighed and shook her head. “What they expect doesn’t matter, because it’s not true.” She looked into her brother’s eyes with a determined, maternal gaze, strong and filled with purpose.   
      “And what happens when they figure that out?” Peter replied, turning his gaze to the dwindling campfire.   
      “That we’re not royalty? We get Edmund and we go home.”  
      With a sigh, Peter rubbed his tired face and replied, “When is he going to learn to do as he’s told?” Susan simply drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head upon her brother’s shoulder.   
      “We should’ve gotten Edmund a leash,” she suggested sleepily before she shifted her head and they both began to doze off.   
      From the warm embrace of her cloak, Eilonwy peered over at the trio with a sad, conflicted gaze. A strange feeling began bubbling up from deep inside of her as she watched them, a sensation she had never before experienced. Her hands tingled and her stomach began to churn. The night sky zoomed in and out of focus, as if threatening to plummet it’s contents towards earth and destroy her. No matter how hard she wished on the brightest star above, the feeling refused to subside. In fact, it worsened throughout the night without a hint of relief. Assuming a fetal position, she tried to ward off the overwhelming nausea but found little success. Perhaps it was only in the dark of night, in the privacy of her own mind, that she was truly at the hands of her own taunting subconscious. When she did eventually slip into sleep that night, she didn’t dare let herself dream.


	5. Chapter Four

      As the sunlight stretched across the land, the Beavers awoke to prepare for the long journey ahead. Stretching his arms forward, Mr. Beaver drank in the crisp morning air and gazed out towards the world in front of him. His wife scurried about to prepare a modest breakfast for the bright-eyed travelers. 

      “Alright, come on, you humans! We’ve got a long day ahead of us!” Mr. Beaver shouted, jostling everyone awake. Lucy yawned and gazed up at him with sleepy eyes, her brother rubbing his face awake while her sister stretched and fixed her hair. Sprawled out upon her solitary patch, Eilonwy groaned for five more minutes until Mr. Beaver tugged her cloak out from under her and the girl rolled face first into the snow. With a discontented grunt, she wiped the slush from her face and shot a glare towards the Pevensies at their suppressed laughter.   
      “Someone’s not much of a morning person,” Susan mumbled, taking a bite of her toast. In most other instances, Eilonwy would’ve tossed up a snarky rebuttal but she was still much too tired to think properly. Shoveling in her breakfast, she avoided eye contact and wiped the excess jam from her lips with her sleeve. Susan tried not to watch, unaccustomed to such barbaric manners. “How far is this stone table, anyways?” she asked.   
      “Oh, just a few hours walk away!” Mrs. Beaver replied cheerily. Peter and Susan exchanged uncertain glances, the boy hesitating to speak. He wanted to voice his concerns, but the words tangled in his throat and he couldn’t properly verbalize them. Instead, he swallowed his sentences with his breakfast and avoided the subject altogether.  
      Paying him a mindless glance, Eilonwy was relieved to discover that whatever strange sensation she felt the night before had subsided, or at least as far as she could tell. With a few hours of sleep under her belt and the pure morning air in her lungs, her previously cloudy mind was now crystal clear. She was better equipped to clear away her conflict and make her final decision on the matter of her involvement.   
      As the Beavers began clearing away their camp and conversing about the most efficient routes, the Pevensies gathered themselves for the journey ahead. Eilonwy’s gaze fell upon the ice castle in the distance, a shudder seizing her body, as Mr. Beaver waited for her to join. “You coming?”   
      One last moment of contemplation. Jadis’s palace glistened in the distance, appearing minuscule from where she currently stood. She thought of the White Witch, of her newest prisoner Edmund, of Aslan and the stone table and the impending war. She could only imagine the poor boy, these stranger’s brother, curled up and neglected in an icy prison cell. The vision reminded her of herself and she cringed at the hazy memories. Her breath hitched in her throat at the promise of everything to come. All she had been longing for– the adventure, the reprieve, the revenge– was right at her feet. She just needed to lean down and pick it up. With a sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, clenched her fists, and then released all her inhibitions. Rising from her seat, she approached the Beavers and the Pevensies and gave a simple nod. This was the end. There was no turning back now. She had officially committed. She refused to peer over her shoulder at Beaversdam as they began the long journey ahead.   
      Despite feeling absolutely ridiculous, Eilonwy knew deep down she would never be met with a chance like this ever again. Staring at the humans before her, an almost poetic hilarity struck her and she stifled a chuckle. She had spent so many years refusing to believe the prophecy, yet now here she was thrust into the chaos of it’s fulfillment. Though she was unsure of what lie ahead, she knew from this moment onward, nothing would ever be the same.   
      The trip was long and quiet, addled with deep contemplation. Eilonwy paid close attention to the detailed movements of the Pevensies, finally being granted the silence to study the trio. Peter swung his arms a bit, and she noticed Susan slightly lifted her chin. Lucy had a natural skip in her step expected of children her age and her eyes glimmered jovially. Peter and Susan, however, ventured with slower, more concentrated steps and Eilonwy suddenly realized the weight of the situation from their perspective. For the siblings, this wasn’t so much an adventure as it was a march towards probable death. Her heart ached softly at the discovery.   
      Along the rock bridge bordering Allies Enclave, Mr. Beaver paused and broke their prolonged silence. “Now, Aslan’s camp is near the stone table, just across the frozen river,” he explained, pointing to a rocky structure upon a cliff. The prospect of a frozen river undoubtedly raised some eyebrows, concern flashing across the Pevensies’ faces regarding it’s solidity.   
      “Oh, don’t worry! The river’s been solid for a hundred years!”, Mrs. Beaver reassured, though her words failed to quell their concerns.   
      At their altitude, the trees ceased to obstruct their view and the entirety of the land extended before them. Eilonwy knew the forests like the back of her hand but from where they stood, even she was rendered breathless at the sight. Though frigid, Narnia was beautiful and you could tell it once possessed an incomparable splendor akin to that of heaven itself. In the dawn, the sunlight cast an angelic glow across the landscape, a halo in the clouds, it’s rays glinting on the ice like diamonds.   
      “It’s so far…”, Peter remarked, in awe at the sweeping expanse. Restraining a snort, Eilonwy began to wonder just how big _their_ world was. Obviously it had to have been much smaller than Narnia if they were this captivated.   
      Mrs. Beaver simply chuckled and replied affectionately, “It’s the world, dear! Did you expect it to be small?”   
      “Smaller”, Susan replied bitterly. She shot a glare at her brother before skirting around him and beginning her descent. Peter stood for a moment more, staring across Narnia’s landscape with unease. Eilonwy watched him for a few seconds, arms crossed and brows furrowed, before finally thwacking him on the arm and motioning for him to move along. He shot a grimace in her direction, to which she rolled her eyes in response, and the two of them rejoined the rest of the group.   
      Quite frankly, Peter was surprised at how crude and physical this girl seemed. She was nothing like the girls back in London, taught to be proper and refined. A part of him was discomforted by her brutal nature, the way she wiped her mouth on her sleeve and seemingly knew no sense of human decency. He felt inferior in her presence, perhaps because her masculinity seemed to surpass his own. If anyone had the gumption to fight against the White Witch, Peter would’ve bet on Eilonwy. Truthfully, a part of him deeply wished she had been appointed a soldier of Aslan’s army instead of himself. She was confident and experienced. She knew more of weaponry and fighting than a boy from Finchley like himself did. In a way, parts of her reminded him of a dragon: dangerous and temperamental but skilled and intriguing. Peter found it hard to keep his eyes off her and as he followed close behind, he carefully observed the rough swing of her arms, her swaying movements and sturdy steps, before forcing himself to avert his eyes.   
      Faced with the vast expanse of snow, crossing the frozen lake was nearly maddening. The lull of the blank canvas sucked their energy dry, their pace slowing significantly as a result. Lucy trailed the furthest behind, her steps lacking much of the pep they began with. Exasperated expressions painted Peter and Susan’s faces.   
      “Come on, you humans! While we’re still young!” Mr. Beaver shouted over his shoulder.   
      Peter shook his head. “If he tells us to hurry one more time, I’m going to turn him into a big, fluffy hat!” he complained, hoisting Lucy onto his back.   
      Swiveling around to face the trio, Eilonwy smirked and replied, “I wouldn’t take any wooden nickels if I were you.” Susan rolled her eyes but before she could remark on the girl’s pun, Eilonwy’s comical manner quickly flattened. Narrowing her eyes, she strained her vision towards a small speck in the distance growing ever nearer. It only took her a moment to comprehend what it was.   
      Turning abruptly, she began frantically smacking Mr. Beaver on the arm. He glanced back in response, his eyes widening. “Hurry up! It’s her!” he shouted. Fear and disbelief instantly painted the sibling’s faces as they peered over their shoulders. The White Witch was barreling towards them in her sleigh.   
      Adrenaline coursed through their veins, the group collectively picking up speed as they rushed towards the nearest hiding place. The bells dangling from her deer’s harnesses jingled wildly, snow flying up from beneath their steadfast hooves. As they reached the outskirts of the shuddering wood, Mr. Beaver urged the humans into the safety of a rocky alcove. Despite it’s convenience, the space was small and the group found themselves incredibly cramped inside. Susan held Mrs. Beaver close, Lucy sat in Peter’s lap, and Eilonwy found herself tightly sandwiched between the cave’s jagged wall and Peter’s side. She wasn’t sure which was worse until the strange feeling from the night before crawled up from the pit of her stomach.   
      They remained quiet for a long while, the bells growing painfully louder until they paused altogether. The vision of a lofty shadow cast against the snow from above and then…silence.   
      “Maybe she’s gone…?” Lucy whispered faintly, afraid that even the slightest sound could cue their demise.   
      “I suppose I’ll go look” Peter offered hesitantly, shifting to rise from his seat. Mr. Beaver, however, quickly turned and negated the offer.   
      “You’re worth nothing to Narnia dead” he countered. The word _dead_ sent a shiver down the boy’s spine, as if so much as thinking the word was a bad omen by now. No one dared contemplate the worst case scenario. Turning back to his wife, Mr. Beaver gave her hand a quick squeeze and cautiously scurried up to the landing above.   
      _Silence_. Nothing but the choral thumping of rapid heartbeats for long, unending seconds. Mrs. Beaver clasped her hands to her chest in concern, awaiting the return of her husband. Glancing towards her, the Pevensies couldn’t help but feel reminded of their mother. Images of Mrs. Helen Pevensie flashed in their brains, wrinkling her husband’s military uniform as she bid him one last hug and watched him disappear into the fog of war. Susan restrained a sob in her throat, hugging Mrs. Beaver a little tighter to her chest. Lucy’s eyes darted wildly in anticipation, the suspense killing her. Peter held his baby sister’s hand, peering upward in concern. Closing her eyes, Eilonwy inhaled deeply and strained her ears for the sound of death.  
      A soft rustling in the snow suddenly captured their attention until– WHOOSH. Mr. Beaver’s head popped down from the ledge above. Lucy screamed in shock as the creature excitedly shouted, “Come out! Come out! I hope you’ve all been good ‘cause there’s someone here to see ya!” With confused expressions, they cautiously ascended, their breath hitching in their throats at the sight staring back at them.   
      Standing beside a modest sleigh stood none other than Father Christmas, clad in fur with a snow white beard. His stance was strong and confident, hands on his hips, as he greeted them all with a hearty laugh. Lucy’s eyes lit up, rushing towards him to bid the man a merry Christmas. Perhaps none were quite as taken aback, though, as Eilonwy. Memories of Christmases past flooded her brain, dizzying images of hulking evergreens and glowing baubles and groggy winter mornings opening presents by the fireplace. Narnia had not seen a Christmas in a hundred years.   
      With a smile, Father Christmas heaved a great leather sack from the trunk of his sleigh and, nestled within piles of plush animals and wooden games, were lavish presents for the prophesied humans. For Lucy, he first presented her with a cordial. It’s case was of red leather and intricately detailed with gold engravings of lions and branches. Inside sloshed a red liquid, the juice of the renowned fireflower. One drop was potent enough to cure any injury. “And, though I hope you never have to use it…” he added, handing her a dagger.  
      “Thank you, sir, but…I think I can be brave enough” she murmured, inspecting her gifts. After all, they weren’t exactly common presents for a little girl.   
      “I’m certain you could. Battles are ugly affairs” Father Christmas replied before turning back to his bag.  
      Next, he called forth Susan. “Trust in this bow and you shall not easily miss” he said, handing her a beautiful bow and quiver full of arrows.   
      She gazed upon them admirably before furrowing her brows and asking, “What happened to 'battles are ugly affairs’?”   
      Father Christmas chuckled, reaching into his bag once more to retrieve an intricately carved horn. “Since you don’t seem to have a problem making yourself heard, blow on this and help will surely come.” While she tried to remain silent, Eilonwy couldn’t help but scoff at Father Christmas’s comment of Susan’s outspokenness. She had certainly upheld such a trait thus far. She quickly recoiled, however, once everyone shot her immediate glares and grimaces.   
      Turning his gaze to Peter, Father Christmas stated, “The time to use these may be near at hand.” He then presented the eldest Pevensie with a shimmering shield and sword. Unsheathing the blade, the sunlight glinted across the steel to highlight an inscription: 

  


  
      “Thank you, sir” Peter replied dreamily, admiring the weapon.   
      “And now, for _you_ ” Father Christmas then said, eyeing Eilonwy. Her face reddened, glancing about herself before stepping forward hesitantly. All eyes flocked to her– she shifted uneasily beneath their gazes. “You didn’t think I would have gone without something for you, as well, did you?” he jested. Eilonwy shifted sheepishly.   
      “I-I don’t expect you to have anything in that bag for me…” she stammered but Father Christmas shook his head and retrieved from his sack a bright red cloak and small mahogany box.   
      “It has come to my attention that you’ve been wearing that same worn cloak for far too long, so I believe a brand new one is in order. Take very good care of it, for there’s more to it than meets the eye” he explained. Lifting it up, Eilonwy admired the thick fabric only to discover that on the opposite side, the entire thing disappeared. A gasp escaped her lips as she began swishing it back and forth in wonder. Lucy’s eyes widened in fascination; Susan gazed in equal parts horror and amazement. “When worn one way, it’s color will surely alert anyone of your location. When used the other, it does the opposite. However, the invisibility of it is only to be used in the most dire of circumstances. _No eavesdropping!_ ” Father Christmas added firmly. Eilonwy smirked up at him briefly, swinging off her old cloak in favor of the new one. Tying the ribbon around her neck, she admired the way it fell across her shoulders and the warmth of the thick fabric. Then Father Christmas handed her the box. Intricate carvings of lions, trees, and apples graced it’s wood, similar to the engravings upon the very wardrobe the Pevensies had entered Narnia through. Embedded in it’s lid was a mystical stone, it’s rough texture glistening gold and orange in the sunlight. Along it’s sides were inscriptions in foreign tongues.   
      “What does it mean?” she asked, squinting at the words as she turned the box in her hands.  
      Father Christmas shook his head. “That, I cannot say. Only you can discover that through time” he replied. “I can, however, tell you that it is a very special box. The topaz embedded inside is a scrying stone. When touched, it can show you anything you wish to see,  but it is not without limitations. It cannot foresee the future nor can it reach any further than our own world. Keep only the most important of items inside and protect it dutifully. Should it fall into the wrong hands, I can’t imagine the chaos that would ensue.”  
      After Father Christmas’s spiel, Eilonwy had grown rather quiet and serious. Her disposition was very uncharacteristic of what the Pevensies had seen of her, and the three of them were slightly taken aback at the change. “Thank you” she murmured softly. She slung her old cloak over her satchel and cradled the box in her arm like a newborn. Father Christmas simply nodded and returned the smile in reply. Truthfully, a secret part of her was disappointed, hoping to receive something more rugged like the weapons gifted to the others. However, she knew of the deeper magic her presents possessed and considering she hadn’t been expecting anything in the first place, she was grateful enough.   
      Glancing from Eilonwy to Peter to Susan to Lucy, Father Christmas concluded, “Remember, these are tools, not toys. Bear them well.” Approaching his sleigh, he prepared to depart before a small voice interrupted him.   
      “What about Edmund?” Lucy asked. At the mention of their brother, Susan and Peter averted their eyes and pursed their lips, ridden with guilt for their horrible leadership skills thus far. They almost felt undeserving of such fine presents in his absence, but Father Christmas’s words quickly reassured them.   
      “I hope these gifts will help you save him” he replied with utmost sincerity. “Now, I must be off. Winter is almost over and things do pile up when you’ve been gone a hundred years!” he exclaimed, hoisting his sack back into his sleigh with a chuckle. Taking the reigns, he then proclaimed as he drove out of sight, “Long live Aslan! And merry Christmas!”   
      As they watched him disappear, a sense of hope and light brimmed from within each of the humans– even Eilonwy. It was that same wondrous sensation that wafted through the air every Christmas, peace on earth and goodwill towards men. The kind associated with the smell of pine and gingerbread and peppermint, the kindhearted caroling sung from front lawns. A sob nearly broke from Eilonwy’s throat at the feel of it. A rare warmth began radiating from the deep core of her chest, sending tingles down her spine and enveloping her in a sense of comfort. It was a very different emotion than the sickening sensation she had been feeling frequently. Rather, this was a cozy feeling, the kind that overwhelms you on frigid winter days when you’re curled by the fireplace in a warm blanket sipping hot chocolate. Deep down inside of her, something was undeniably beginning to take flight and change.   
      “He said winter was almost over…”, Peter stated, eyes still locked on the sleigh’s path. A certain urgency then abruptly overcame him as he turned to face the girls beside him. “You know what that means? No more ice.”   
      The revelation struck them all in the exact same instance. They could feel the rare warmth in the air, the strange, humid veil gradually thickening amongst them. Indeed, winter was almost over but their journey still was not. With the presumed melting of all the surrounding ice and snow, they were struck with an overwhelming fear that things were quickly going to become a lot more difficult.


	6. Chapter Five

      Skidding to a halt at the edge of the cliff, fragments of ice broke away from the once frozen platform to reveal the river beneath. The vision of running water was enough to collectively advance the human’s heartbeats, though Eilonwy’s was more due to shock rather than apprehension. Peter’s eyes darted frantically at the scene below, the roar of the current pounding in his ears. 

      “We need to cross _now_ ” he demanded, grasping Lucy’s hand.  
      “Don’t beavers make dams?” the youngest suggested urgently. The concern in her eyes was gravely evident.   
      “I’m not that fast, dear!” Mr. Beaver replied. With his baby sister in tow, Peter began descending the cliff, much to Susan’s dismay. She hesitated only a second, glancing fearfully towards the rushing river, before opening her mouth to speak.   
      “Wait, maybe we should think about this a minute!” she argued. With a frustrated sigh, Eilonwy rolled her eyes and began her descent. Peter spoke her thoughts, countering that they couldn’t spare a minute and as howls echoed in the distance, Susan was forced to succumb to her brother’s commands.   
      As they reached the river’s edge, Peter stared apprehensively toward the unstable ice before him. Toddling out backwards, Mr. Beaver gently whacked at the surface with his tail before ensuring the platform’s safety and motioning for everyone to follow. With cautious steps, the group made their way across, Lucy clinging to her brother and Susan biting her lip nervously. The ice cracked and hissed beneath their feet with each step, threatening to submerge them at the slightest misstep. Shards of ice from the waterfall above tumbled towards the ground and shattered. From high above, a familiar pack of wolves rushed across the brink.  
      With teeth bared, they jolted from the cliffs and barricaded the group on all sides. Drawing her sword, Eilonwy whipped around to face the trio growling and clawing from behind. As Maugrim approached from the front, one of his henchmen lunged forward and sunk his teeth into Mr. Beaver’s neck. In a panic, Peter unsheathed his sword and extended it fearfully.   
      “Put that down, boy. Someone could get hurt” Maugrim snarled with a smirk. With Peter’s obvious inexperience, Maugrim could have easily pounced forth and slaughtered him. However, taunting the poor boy was much more amusing. “All my queen wants is for you to take your family and leave.”  
      With a frustrated huff, Eilonwy glanced over her shoulder, tactfully slicing at the wolves that crept closer. “Don’t just stand there! Do something, you idiot!” she shouted. After all, Father Christmas had given Peter a sword for a reason: so he could make use of it. Standing there idly would do no good for their case and she certainly wasn’t going to do all the work. He needed the practice if he had any hopes of fighting in battle, anyways.   
      A wicked grin crossed Maugrim’s face the moment he noticed Eilonwy’s presence, crouching a moment in excitement at the sudden complication. “Well, I wasn’t expecting the _little princess_ to have forged an alliance. Maybe you ought to take cues from her” the wolf instigated, eyeing Peter. The phrase “little princess” rolled off his tongue like a volcanic insult, harsh and molten, and a growl rose in Eilonwy’s throat at the sound of it. For the second time, someone had called her “princess.” Peter’s face turned bright red in response to the patronization, yet he clenched his jaw and stiffened his gaze on the wolf. “I suggest you leave now while you still can, and your brother leaves with you” Maugrim added.  
      Susan’s heart leapt into her throat. It was an ideal offer: all she wanted from the very beginning was to retrieve Edmund and go home. After that, Narnia would be left to fade into a childish memory, never having to return to such a wretched place. The opportunity oozed desire. “Stop, Peter! Maybe we should listen to him!” she shouted. Despite the desperation in her voice, her brother didn’t budge.   
      “Smart girl” Maugrim smirked as he inched nearer. “Even a simple tradeoff would suffice. We’ll give you your brother if you give us the princess” he added, eyeing Eilonwy maliciously. “After all, I’m sure my queen would love a visit from such an old friend.”   
      Susan furrowed her brows in confusion as she and Lucy glanced over their shoulders. The rugged girl was slaying every wolf that crossed her path, blood staining the ice bright red as heaps of matted fur were caught up in the current. Meanwhile, Peter hardened his stance. “You’d have to go through me first!” he shouted through gritted teeth.   
      “ _Peter!_ ” Susan rebuked, whipping back around to face him.   
      “Oh, that wouldn’t be a problem. It’s not you I’m worried about” Maugrim chuckled darkly.   
      From the back of the group, Eilonwy groaned and yelled, “Peter, cut the chivalry! Now is not the time! And for Aslan’s sake, _do something_!”   
      “No!” Susan argued over her shoulder. Turning back to face her brother, she then shouted, “Peter, just because some man in a red coat hands you a sword, it doesn’t make you a hero! Just drop it!”   
      “Better a hero than a wuss!” Eilonwy countered, slashing the last wolf that approached.  
      “Narnia needs you Peter! Gut him while you still have the chance!” Mr. Beaver interjected, fangs piercing into his skin. Blood bubbled up from the puncture, eliciting a yelp of pain from the beaver. A claw clutched his abdomen to still his squirming body.   
      Maugrim’s patience was wearing thin. With narrowed eyes, he growled, “What’s it going to be, Son of Adam? I won’t wait forever, and neither will the river!”   
      “ _Peter!_ ”  
      Lucy’s eyes widened up at the waterfall before them. Water spewed from the cracks as it’s composure faltered, it’s ice threatening to shatter. Glancing from the fall to the wolf to the crackling sheet beneath their feet, Peter panicked a moment before devising a quick plan. “Hold onto me!” he instructed. With one swift motion, he stabbed his blade into the ice and knelt beside the hilt. Susan and Lucy crouched beside him, grasping tightly at the fur of his coat. Eilonwy, however, hesitated. Her eyes remained locked on the collapsing waterfall, enraptured by it’s demise. She was so preoccupied with fending off the wolves, she hadn’t noticed how hulking and grand the thing was up close. The shards seemed to crumble in slow motion until suddenly, a hand snatched her wrist and jerked her away. Her chest rammed into the steel of Peter’s shield as a massive wave immediately engulfed them.   
      Everything suddenly became piercing cold and brilliantly blue. The current urged them forward, frigid water whipping at their faces. Suspended beneath the surface, Eilonwy felt horribly weightless. A strong pressure imposed itself upon her chest and a tingle enveloped her stomach, her limbs entangled with those of the Pevensies. A wave of panic overwhelmed her as her lungs burned for air, trapped beneath the surface by the merciless current. Her heart rose in her throat and everything began to blur until finally, they broke through the waves and greeted the winter air.  
      Gasping for breath, Eilonwy hugged Peter’s shield like a life preserver. Lucy uttered a panicked scream as she struggled to secure her grip and began slipping into the rushing current. With a gasp, her brother grabbed her hand and tugged her back to safety. The breeze whipped at their faces, only adding to how undeniably cold they all were. The Beavers redirected their vessel towards land, Susan frantically rushing ashore as her brother followed.   
      It was in that moment, soaking wet, that Eilonwy was reminded of just how truly small and vulnerable she was. Shivering violently, she darted to shore only for her legs to become entangled in her dense, damp skirts. The ice was slippery and she lost her footing, nearly plummeting to the ground until a pair of arms reached out and caught her. Glancing up in confusion, she instantly locked eyes with Peter and that’s when the sickening realization hit her.   
      Time slowed to a creep as her mind flashed back to her dream from just days earlier: the apple, the corpses, the chain mail, _the eyes_. Sapphire eyes that bore holes into her soul. All the color drained from her face and her stomach lurched. The very eyes from her dream were now staring back at her, more vivid than any unconscious vision. Her head spun but she quickly composed herself, straightening her back and shoving Peter away. She didn’t need him to save her or catch her when she fell. She could manage just fine on her own, just like she had for years before. The dream meant nothing. It was done. As she scrambled towards a nearby tree, Peter glanced back at her in disappointment before a panicked shout drew away his attention.  
      “What have you done?!” Susan screamed and all eyes fell on the empty coat in Peter’s hands. _Lucy’s coat._ A look of pure horror crossed Peter’s face, his entire body trembling, though not from the cold. Perching herself on higher ground, Susan frantically scoured the raging river for any sight of their sister, screaming her name in agony. Her usually steady hands trembled at her side. The river rushed by without a single sign of Lucy caught in it’s current. Peter was speechless.   
      “Has anyone seen my coat?!” a small voice suddenly shouted. Peter whipped around to spy his baby sister stomping along the riverbank, struggling to readjust her soaked sweater. With a sigh of relief, he swaddled her in her coat and brushed the hair from her face with shaking hands. Eilonwy released a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.  
      “Don’t you worry, dear. Your brother’s got you well looked after!” Mr. Beaver assured. A small smile involuntarily hinted at Eilonwy’s lips, though she quickly wiped it away once she realized it was there. Mrs. Beaver clasped her hands together before turning to face the wood before them.   
      “I don’t think you’ll be needing those coats anymore!” she announced dreamily. Following her line of vision, the Pevensies stared in wonder at the scene before them. Amidst the bare branches of the surrounding maples and oaks stood a single cherry tree slowly blooming before their eyes. It’s blossoms sighed and unfolded, greeting the spring sunlight that filtered through the clouds. As the group advanced forward, they watched in awe at the beauty of Narnia’s transformation. Eilonwy stood frozen by the riverbank, enveloped in wonder as a lump rose in her throat. She had forgotten how beautiful cherry trees were. Everything was becoming new and fresh and warm. Spring was finally returning right before her eyes and the reality was both terrifying and exhilarating.  
      “You coming, dear?” Mrs. Beaver called behind her. Eilonwy quickly snapped from her trance and gathered her skirts, rushing to join the others. Life bloomed all around them as they ventured forward. 

  
      From upon the cliff, Jadis grimaced at the freshly thawed river raging below. A hundred years of hard work and tyranny was unraveling before her eyes and a fury bubbled up from deep inside of her in response. Edmund stood nearby, eyes locked in awe at the view below. The witch glanced in his direction, a small smirk touching her lips. This boy was her only hope at regaining her iron grip. Just as she opened her mouth to speak, her wolves rushed in from the band of trees nearby.  
      “Your Majesty, we found the traitor! He was rallying your enemies near the Shuddering Wood!” one announced as another tossed a pained Fox into the grass. The White Witch glared at the creature as she approached, keeping a firm grip on her wand.   
      “It’s so nice of you to drop by. You were such a _splendid_ help to my wolves last night!” she spoke, her voice cold and intimidating. Expertly twirling her wand in her fingers, she pointed it’s sharp tip at the Fox’s face. “Tell me, beast, where are the humans headed?” The fox hesitated, refusing to meet the witch’s gaze, before she grew impatient and threatened to kill.   
      “Wait, no!” Edmund interjected, jumping to block the creature from Jadis’s wrath. “The Beavers said something about the stone table! And Aslan having an army there!” he revealed. Jadis glared at him before softening her gaze. The fox sighed sadly, bowing his head in disappointment.   
      “Well, I’m glad this creature got to see some honesty” she cooed, “before he died!” In one fluid motion, she jabbed the wand’s tip at the fox. With a yelp, he was reduced to stone. Edmund gasped, his eyes widening, as Jadis turned to slap his cheek. Narrowing her eyes, she gripped the boy’s chin in her hand and murmured wickedly, “Think about whose side you’re on, Edmund. Mine, or theirs.” As she turned back to her wolves, a sickening confidence and satisfaction spread over her. “Gather the faithful,” she commanded. “If it’s a war Aslan wants, then it’s a war he shall get.”   
      Just as her troops disappeared, Maugrim rushed into the scene followed by the few who had survived the waterfall’s collapse. “My queen, we bring news of the humans” he announced, skidding to a halt.   
      A pleased grin spread across Jadis’s lips. “Hopefully you’re of more help to me than this unfortunate creature” she replied, glaring at the fox petrified before her.   
      Maugrim bowed before gazing upon his ruler with a sly grin. “We caught them at the waterfall two hours ago. You should be very pleased to hear who we found accompanying them.”  
      “Humor me” Jadis stated boredly, idly twirling her wand between her fingers.  
      “Eilonwy.” The words rolled off Maugrim’s tongue gracefully, catching all of Jadis’s attention. Her wand stilled in her hand. At first, she appeared panicked, with wide eyes and mouth slightly agape. However, her expression quickly turned sinister and a wicked grin spread across her lips.   
      “ _Even better._ ”


	7. Chapter Six

      Narnia’s icy armor continued to melt away as the Pevensies and their allies journeyed forward. Lush green leaves brushed against their legs and gorgeously fragrant flowers smiled up at them. They stared in awe, running their fingers over the bark of tree trunks and stopping to admire the heather and dandelions. Small creatures scuttled across the pathways and birds sang heartfelt melodies in the trees. The entire forest was alive once again with the verve of spring. However, the nature wasn’t the only thing garnering attention. Eilonwy sidled up to the Beavers at the helm of the group, keeping to herself and traveling with quick, purposeful steps. Peter stole many a glance in her direction, growing ever intrigued by her strange behavior. There were so many unanswered questions, he wanted to approach her to resolve them all but he restrained himself for fear of her reaction. 

      Lucy, however, was much less timid. Quickening her pace, she neared the Beavers to take notice of what she swore were tears brimming from Eilonwy’s eyes. Narnia had been so void of the color green for so long that the sight of so much foliage was quite frankly overwhelming. Like a dragon does his gold, Eilonwy wanted to touch every leaf and pluck every flower, then hoard them all for fear of them disappearing as quickly as they were born. Bowing her head, she felt the semblance of hot tears threaten to fall, regardless of how much she tried to ignore their presence.   
      “Are you crying, Eilonwy?” Lucy asked, a small smile hinting at her lips. She tilted her head in an attempt to view the girl’s hidden face. To Lucy, crying wasn’t so much a sign of weakness as it was a brave expression of emotion. Considering her usually stony disposition, Eilonwy’s apparent softening was actually quite a relief. Lucy was certain that deep down, the girl was much more emotional than she dared to reveal.   
      Eilonwy’s cheeks reddened at the young girl’s question, however, and she quickly pressed her hands to her face to hide her blush. Wiping her nose on her sleeve, she sniffled and retorted, “No, of course not! That’s stupid! It’s just…just allergies, is all. All these flowers and bushes, they’re dreadful for my sinuses!” Lucy furrowed her brows, unconvinced, but made no further mention of the matter. Peter glanced up from his idle chat with Susan, chuckling softly at Eilonwy’s response, before turning back to meet his sister’s suspicious stare. She hadn’t taken much of a liking to the brute girl thus far, unnerved by her coarse manners and rude behavior. However, her strong intuition detected a strange energy pulsating between her and her brother– one she was uncertain of her feelings toward.  
      As they trekked through the forest, Peter was magnetized towards this girl, picking up speed to stroll alongside her. With his hand gently resting upon his sword’s hilt, he tried to emit a casual confidence as if to prove himself worthy of her attention. He glanced towards her before clearing his throat to speak. “So, Eilonwy, you never really said who you are or where you’re from. I think I speak for all of us when I say we’d all like to know who, exactly, is allying with us” he said. Eilonwy eyed him suspiciously, arms crossed and brows raised.   
     “My accompanying you is strictly business, Peter. My history is of no importance. All you need to know is that I prefer to be left _alone_ ” she stated bluntly before quickening her pace. He watched her hustle away with a defeated sigh, rubbing his forehead and muttering to himself about how much smoother that played out in his head.  
      Truthfully, Eilonwy found herself incapable of communicating with him. Every time Peter came nearer, her focus instantly landed on his eyes and that pesky sensation increased tenfold. It was unnerving and nauseating, akin to staring at dismembered body parts. The only difference was that Eilonwy could handle guts and gore, yet she couldn’t handle this. Deep down, she was furious with herself. No matter what aggressive mental demands she forced upon herself, nothing could quell that overwhelming sensation. The only treatment she could muster was to keep her distance as best she could, which she soon discovered was nearly impossible.   
      Peter was like a lost puppy, constantly flanking her to try and strike up yet another conversation. Susan shook her head and sighed as she watched each painful encounter. She wanted to tug him back by his shirt collar and shout at him to stop pestering the girl, that it wasn’t worth his time. Obviously Eilonwy had no real interest in the three of them and would surely bail the minute they reached Aslan’s camp. After all, she wasn’t there to make emotional investments. She was a messenger fulfilling a duty and even then, she seemed to view the Pevensies as a burden. In truth, her attitude made Susan feel even more unwelcome in this strange land than she already had.   
      As the snow melted further, the Pevensies paused to remove their heavy coats and soak in the spring air. While halted, Peter recognized the perfect opportunity to once again attempt a conversation. Resting his coat on a tree stump, he approached Eilonwy as she leaned back against the trunk of an elm. Her face was flushed, one hand lifting the ocean of hair from the nape of her neck as the other fanned her face.  
      “Hey, Eilonwy, are you alright? You know, I could probably get you some water or–” he started before she clipped his sentence short.   
      “I’m quite alright on my own, thanks” she lied. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and pasted tendrils of hair to her pale face. Peter wanted to believe her but could tell she was obviously suffering. The temperature rose.   
      “No, it’s fine! I don’t mind!” Peter assured her. Visions of her fainting from heat stroke flickered in his mind. However, Eilonwy refused to tolerate his chivalry. Letting her hair cascade down her back, she shoved herself away from the tree and started back down the path.   
      “Listen, I’m fine, alright? I don’t need your help” she insisted, stumbling over her hem as she went. Averting her eyes, she then began muttering angrily about how warm it was until she officially lost her mind. Approaching a nearby log, she crouched down and began feverishly tearing at the thick fabric of her dress. When her bare hands proved unsatisfactory, she stood and unsheathed her sword, cutting her hem to reach just past her knee and tearing her sleeves off. Mrs. Beaver clapped her paws over her mouth at the sight, having never seen Eilonwy so viciously fervent before. Peter watched in both fear and intrigue as his eyes darted to every newly exposed patch of skin. Susan whacked him on the arm for staring, disgusted by the girl’s dramatic display. Once she was finished destroying her dress, Eilonwy snatched a strip of spare fabric and tied her unruly hair back. With heaving breaths, she collapsed onto the log and sprawled her limbs out tiredly. Everyone stared at her in uncomfortable shock.  
      “She’s an absolute lunatic!” Susan murmured incredulously, breaking the silence. Lucy blinked before gazing up at Peter, restraining a giggle at his expression. His eyes were as wide as saucers, his cheeks bright red, and he stood painfully still.   
      “Peter, I think _you_ need the drink of water!” she laughed, grinning up at her brother. Peter instantly snapped out of his daze, embarrassment and a hint of insult crossing his face as he averted his eyes.   
      Mr. Beaver crossed his arms and furrowed his brows in displeasure. “Well, now that _that_ little tantrum is out of the way, I think it’s time we got a move on. No use sitting around waiting ‘til nightfall. Shouldn’t keep Aslan waiting!” he announced, motioning for everyone to follow. This time, Peter was the one speeding forward, hoping to bypass any teasing from Lucy or scolding from Susan. As the rest of the group advanced onward, Mr. Beaver eyed Eilonwy angrily. “And as for you, you start acting like a respectable human being. Aslan won’t be having any wenches running amok at his camp!"    
     Eilonwy gasped and glared at the beaver as she rose, sheathing her sword furiously and gathering her things as she rushed to join the others. "I am _not_ a wench!” she argued. “And I’ll start acting respectable when I see that big, bumbling lion for myself!” With a sigh, Mr. Beaver shook his head and rubbed at his temples. Nothing more was said.   
      After Eilonwy’s episode, the group traveled in silence for a long while until crossing the Fords of Beruna. Aslan’s camp was growing nearer, the faint clanging of steel echoing in the distance. Canary flags flapped in the wind, just barely visible over the tops of the freshly clothed trees. Walking alongside her brother, Lucy glanced up to tug at his hand and murmured softly, “Peter, I’m hungry.”   
      It wasn’t until she had mentioned it that everyone realized just how long it had been since they had eaten anything. Glancing around the wood, Peter’s eyes fell upon a nearby apple tree rich with fruit. As he approached, he reached up to pluck half a dozen apples, cradling them in his arm as he returned to the others. Lucy excitedly collected one from Peter’s gathering, biting into it with a grin. It was the sweetest, most wonderful apple she had ever tasted and with each bite, it grew more and more delectable. After everyone else had taken one of the fruits, Peter glanced to Eilonwy, who had recoiled against the trunk of a nearby tree. All the blood had drained from her face and her stomach churned. Her sense of smell heightened, the noxious scent dizzying.   
      “Eilonwy, are you alright?” Lucy asked, tilting her head curiously. Clapping her hand over her mouth, Eilonwy gripped her abdomen and gave a minute shake of her head. Peter eyed her with concern and confusion, straightening his back in preparation for if she was once more about to faint. Everything was closing in and without the slightest explanation, Eilonwy jolted away through the brush. Peter’s eyes remained locked on her path moments after she disappeared.   
      “What was all that about?” Susan asked, glancing from her siblings to the Beavers. Mrs. Beaver sighed, twiddling her paws in her lap. She knew better than to exploit her adoptive daughter’s secret affliction.   
      “I hope she’s alright” Lucy murmured, finishing off her snack.   
      Pursing his lips, Peter twisted the stem of his apple until it snapped away from the core and he tossed it to the ground. “Well, whatever’s the matter, she’s wasting time” he stated bluntly. Susan was taken aback, surprised by her brother’s sudden indifference. Perhaps he was finally beginning to remember the purpose of their venture: to get Edmund and return home. Lucy, however, caught a note of sadness in his voice. While she didn’t fully understand his perspective, she knew there had been something different about her brother that Eilonwy’s presence installed. Unlike her older sister, Lucy actually had a soft spot for the girl. She thought Eilonwy was funny and felt strangely safe around her. Truthfully, Lucy hoped she would stay for the rest of their adventure and that they could become great friends. She had been so lonely since the war began and Susan hadn’t been very fun company. Lucy needed a confidant and Eilonwy piqued her interest. When she disappeared, however, the possibility of befriending her seemed to quickly fade.   
      Further down the way, Eilonwy had dropped into the dirt of a small patch of barren land. Curling up at the base of a tree, she drew her knees into her chest and buried her face in her hands. With a frustrated grunt, she stomped her foot into the ground as a lump rose in her throat. She deeply inhaled the sweet spring air to try and quell the flood of emotions. For so long, she had lived contently in a state of personal purgatory but now everything was shifting and somewhere she surely lost her footing. Beneath her mask of cynicism and independence, deep down she knew she was weak and childish and afraid. She dug her fingers into the dirt and bit her lip, unnerved by the lack of snow. The sun was blazing hot, it’s rays baking her papery skin. Narnia was reverting back to the splendor and beauty of old, yet she knew there was one aspect it could never revive– an aspect whose absence was perhaps the most painful of all.  
      Wiping her soiled hands onto her dress, Eilonwy ran her fingers through her hair and rested her chin upon her knobby knees. Once upon a time, the prospect of spring’s return was a definitive utopia. So many years of bitter loneliness and unending winter, however, shattered that dream. Now she was being tugged in opposite directions by two monsters of equal villainy and, in the process, tearing at the seams. Narnia’s restoration seemed like such an idyllic thought until the pain of her memories crept from the shadows. She refused to grow attached to her human charges, yet that god-forsaken sensation seemed to dictate otherwise. As the snow around her had melted away, so had the walls she had built around herself. Now she was scrambling to reconstruct them.   
      A sudden rustling in the bushes behind stirred Eilonwy from her thoughts. Snapping up, she whipped out her sword and aimed it toward the sound, only to find Peter emerge from the trees. He raised his arms in surrender and, cursing under her breath, Eilonwy lowered her blade.   
      “What do you want?” she asked, sheathing her sword.  
      “I want an explanation” he commanded. “You know, you haven’t exactly made any of us feel very welcome here. This whole trip hasn’t exactly been a summer holiday. It’s not like we asked for any of this, but it all wouldn’t be nearly as bad without your sour attitude. You treat us like we don’t even matter to you. If you wanted nothing to do with us, then why did you tag along in the first place?”  
      Eilonwy was taken aback by the flood of accusations– especially from someone as spineless as Peter. She stared blankly for a moment, absorbing the shock, before a grimace graced her face. “I don’t have time for this” she mumbled, averting her eyes, as she pushed her way towards the brush. Peter wanted to rush after her, to grab her by the wrist and keep her from running off, but couldn’t bring himself to chase after her.   
      “Why can’t you just answer me?!” he finally called.   
      “I don’t need to give you explanations!” she shouted over her shoulder. “They’re not important anyways” she spat before departing through the foliage.   
      Peter stood isolated in the small meadow a moment longer, watching her disappear with a weary sigh. It was as if all his efforts were constantly vanquished by this overpowering disdain she seemed to emit as effortlessly as one blinks or breathes. Any other time, he was certain he would’ve given up, but not with her. She was a tomb of secrets waiting to be cracked open and released. His curiosity was piqued and he felt an inexplicable need to know what she was hiding, this enigma of a girl. He stood there in silence for a moment more before reuniting with the group. He kept his distance for the entire rest of the journey.


	8. Chapter Seven

      As the trees petered out, Aslan’s camp came into view before them. Tents of varying sizes were scattered throughout the valley, beacons of comfort to weary travelers such as themselves. Centaurs and fauns coexisted amongst leopards and bears, toiling away in preparation for the battle ahead. From upon a cliff, one centaur spied the humans approaching and in response, lifted a horn to his lips to alert their arrival.

      “I think Aslan may have overestimated us a bit” Peter whispered with a chuckle as he drank in the scene. Susan raised her brows and gave a minute nod. As they traversed the camp, soldiers lifted their gazes with goofy grins before forming a crowd, following the party close behind.  
      “Why are they all staring at us…? Susan asked through a forced smile, glancing uncomfortably at the mob of creatures. All she saw were bared teeth and sharp claws.   
      "Maybe they think _you_ look funny!” Lucy jested.   
      Eilonwy followed close behind with slow and stiff movements, a sense of panic coursing through her veins. She felt everyone’s eyes trail from the Pevensies back to her as they stared. Many of them met her presence with confusion and a glimmering semblance of hope, as if they recognized her from a hazy dream. The clanging of metal rang in her ears and something deep inside of her whispered, “Run, escape, and never look back!” Heart pounding, her eyes darted from each of the soldier’s faces, her ears standing alert for any murmur of the word princess spilling from their lips. She could almost sense it coming, like a tidal wave bound to engulf her.   
      Sensing her discomfort, Mrs. Beaver peered up at her adoptive daughter with a comforting smile. “You’re alright, dear. Just breathe” she whispered reassuringly. Eilonwy simply replied with a weak smile, watching the Beavers for a moment more. Unlike herself, they were overwhelmed with excitement as they approached the largest tent. It was more than obvious who it belonged to. Hardly anyone had ever seen the great, mysterious lion before, yet his name was engraved into the back of everyone’s minds from birth. As the crimson tent grew nearer, Eilonwy’s panic only increased and deep down, she had no choice but to admit she was completely terrified.   
      With a deep breath, Peter drew his sword and held it high above his head. “We have come to see Aslan” he announced. His eyes flashed to that of a centaur standing guard, who simply nodded before the soldiers behind bowed in unison. A light breeze fluttered the tent’s flaps. Eilonwy’s heart rose in her chest, her hands trembling at her side. Her abundant adrenaline urged her to run, yet she was paralyzed in absolute panic. Sweat beaded on her brow as the blazing sun threatened to plummet and swallow her whole. And then it happened.   
      One massive paw extended from the tent’s entry, followed by the hulking body of the great lion himself. His presence was calm and regal, his fur glinting gold in the sunlight. Eilonwy had expected him to appear much like any other lion she had seen, but standing before him she realized he most certainly was not. He was much larger, a grand and intimidating figure with warm, burning eyes. His motions were fluid and concentrated and he looked upon the humans before him with a wild kindness like that of a mother to her child. A grin spread across Lucy’s face at the sight of him, his presence immediately flooding her with a distinct light and joy. Susan retracted inside herself, in awe of the beast’s magnificence. Standing beside his sisters, Peter looked upon the creature with an admirable respect and intrigue that Eilonwy almost expected of him. She knelt beside the others, though more because her knees faltered rather than out of genuine respect.   
      “Welcome Peter, son of Adam. Welcome Susan and Lucy, Daughters of Eve. Welcome Eilonwy, and welcome to you, too, Beavers. You have my thanks” Aslan finally spoke. His voice was booming, deep and authoritative. His eyes landed upon each member of their company as he spoke and as he glanced Eilonwy’s way, her mouth ran dry and all the blood drained from her face. Aslan’s brows then furrowed in displeasure as he added, “But where is the fourth?”   
      A wave of discomfort washed over the Pevensies as they rose. Sheathing his sword, Peter replied, “That’s why we’re here, sir. We need your help.”  
      “We had a little trouble along the way” Susan added uneasily.   
      “Edmund, our brother…” Peter began, “has been captured by the White Witch.” A symphony of gasps and gossip erupted from the crowd behind them, brows furrowing in confusion and concern. The mention of the witch’s name sent chills down Eilonwy’s spine and her head began to spin.   
      “How could this happen?” Aslan inquired. There was a long moment of silence as each of the siblings averted their eyes. The reason was clear yet they couldn’t bring themselves to form an explanation. They couldn’t bear to disappoint the beast before them. They were truthfully too afraid of how he would react.   
      Finally, Mr. Beaver stepped forward and spoke. “He…betrayed them, sir” he said. Another round of gasps and gaping mouths from the crowd. Aslan closed his eyes and bowed his head, further discouraged.   
      The adjacent centaur clenched his fists, enraged by such news. “Then he has betrayed us all!” he shouted, breath rapid and jaw clenched.   
      “Peace, Oreius!” Aslan commanded, the hint of a growl in his voice. The centaur huffed and composed himself. “I’m sure there is an explanation.”   
      Resting his hand upon the hilt of his sword, Peter stammered, “I-It’s my fault, really. I was too hard on him.” Visions of recent tragedies flashed through his mind, his father’s voice echoing in accompaniment. _Keep your mum and siblings safe for me, Pete_ , he had said. _You’re the man of the house now_. Edmund refused to admit he was devastated, locking himself away to conceal his depression. He had grown more and more defensive about the subject, resorting to snark and solitude to mask his pain. Peter had been entrusted to protect him, yet Edmund knew no one, not even his older brother, could replace their dad. Peter was faced with the pressure of doing justice to such a man, yet knew his father would be displeased with his work. The weight of his failure pained his face. Everyone could clearly see Edmund wasn’t the only one who Peter was too hard on.   
      Susan softly laid a comforting hand upon her brother’s shoulder. “We all were” she admitted sadly. She, too, was dissatisfied with herself. At the meager age of fifteen, Susan was forced to assume her mother’s position as they were shipped away from home. She craved order and simplicity yet their journey thus far had been anything but. Nothing could have ever prepared her for the challenges she had already faced, nor those which lie ahead.   
      “Sir, he’s our brother” the smallest voice spoke up. Lucy gazed upon the lion before her with a melancholy determination. Regardless of whatever grief Edmund had given her the previous few weeks, Lucy’s capacity for forgiveness was astronomical. Aslan, however, was much less optimistic.   
      “I know, dear one. But that only makes the betrayal all the worse. This may be harder than you think” he responded. His once confident presence had quickly diminished into a sullen majesty, discouraged by the complications at hand. However, three of the four chosen ones were still before him. “In the meantime, there are tents reserved for you all. You will find fresh clothes inside and an abundant meal will await you once you finish” Aslan added. Oreius, the centaur, motioned for the group to follow. Eilonwy hesitated a moment, certain that she was excluded from the accommodations. After all, she still wasn’t even sure if she was going to stay. It wasn’t until the lion nodded in approval that she hastened after the others.   
      Four tents stood in a semicircle to the far right of Aslan’s: one for Peter to share with his brother, one for Susan and Lucy, and two small ones for Eilonwy and the Beavers. Still reeling from her recent encounter, Eilonwy pushed her way past the others and darted straight for her quarters without so much as a thank you. Peter eyed her curiously before turning to enter his own.   
     Once inside, Eilonwy threw her satchel, cloak, and the box from Father Christmas onto the cot and let herself come undone. In the privacy of her chambers, nobody could see her crumble. Collapsing onto the grassy floor, she drew her knees up to her chest and began wrapping the frayed threads of her hem around her finger until it turned blue. With labored breathing, she struggled to compose herself. Every little noise caught her attention, her eyes darting wildly to their sources. Her forehead dampened with sweat as she clenched her fists, digging her nails into her skin. She could feel herself cracking beneath the pressure of so much sudden change. The grass scratched at her bare legs and the warm spring breeze wafted through the tent’s curtains. It was too much. She tried closing her eyes and steadying her breath but all she saw behind her lids were blue eyes and rampant lions.   
      After a few moments, her panic began to naturally wane and she suddenly remembered the box upon her bed. Hesitating a moment, she leaned over and cradled it in her hands, admiring the artistry of the engravings and the glimmer of the topaz inset. Her finger traced the foreign words inscribed along the side and she pursed her lips at her lack of understanding. Father Christmas’s words echoed in her brain: _It is a very special box. The topaz embedded inside is a scrying stone. When touched, it can show you anything you wish to see…_  
      Eilonwy’s hand hovered over the gem with uncertainty, furrowing her brow and biting her lip. With a deep breath, she finally rested her palm over the stone and closed her eyes. The vision was hazy at first but grew ever clearer. She wasn’t sure what she expected, but the experience certainly validated the stone’s potency. Vivid, familiar scenes flashed before her eyes, her heart wrenching in her chest at their intricate detail. It wasn’t until everything abruptly cut to black that she realized she couldn’t breathe and she immediately scrambled away from the box, hoping to forget. She refused to speak a word of what she saw.   
      As the afternoon sun sat high overhead, Eilonwy emerged from her tent to find Peter fastening his sword belt around his waist. She was immediately taken aback by the sight of him: in Narnian garb, he was almost unrecognizable and she instantly forgot what he had looked like in anything else. He almost appeared more mature, like a prince rather than a school boy and it wasn’t until he looked up at her that she realized she was staring.  
      “Hello” he stated quietly, drinking in the sight of her. She, too, looked much different in her new clothes. With her hair neatly braided down her back, he could better see her round, childish face. The significant lack of stains and tears in her new ensemble radiated a much more sophisticated air and now he was beginning to understand why everyone felt inclined to call her a princess. She approached slowly and cautiously, ignoring the strange sensation once again overwhelming her.   
      “Hello” she replied back. “You, uh, you look nice. Much different than what I was expecting.”  
      “Likewise” he added abruptly. He kept repositioning his arms: first lying a hand on his sword hilt, then crossing his arms over his chest, then letting them hang idly at his side. An awkward silence soon enveloped them, neither entirely sure what to say.   
      “Where are your sisters?” Eilonwy finally asked.  
      “They went down to the river to freshen up” Peter replied, glancing toward a dirt path sloping to the stream. Eilonwy gave a simple nod before they slipped back into silence. A nervous energy pulsated between them, the intimacy of the moment weighing on their shoulders. They each desperately wanted to speak yet the words they wished to say tangled in their throats. Finally, Peter took a deep breath and murmured, “I’m sorry, by the way.”  
      Eilonwy’s head instantly snapped up from her distant gaze, surprised by his vague apology. “Whatever for?”   
      “For what happened in the woods earlier. I never should’ve chased after you” he explained. A soft _oh_ escaped Eilonwy’s lips and she remained silent for a moment. Personally, she didn’t want to relive her episodes in the woods– both her overheated rampage and the apple catastrophe. However, Peter pressed on. “I suppose I was just frustrated. This entire trip hasn’t exactly been a summer holiday.”   
      Eilonwy chuckled softly, running her hands over the brocade of her new skirt. “Well, wars aren’t supposed to be easy” she replied. Peter shrugged with an airy laugh.  
      “I’ll say” he replied. “I just don’t understand why this is our responsibility. We’re from Finchley, we’re not heroes.” Eilonwy pursed her lips as she listened, realizing he was beginning to confide in her. The prospect of a therapy session once again jolted her anxiety and her eyes darted towards the rest of the camp. She wasn’t quite sure what to say– he had yet to state anything she disagreed with and advice wasn’t her forte. After a few more moments of silence, Peter looked to the girl beside him and added, “We just want our brother back.” Genuine pain and concern painted his face and Eilonwy instantly detected a weariness of spirit within him. It was the same weariness she saw in herself through dark circles and bony features, the result of being forced to grow up much too quickly. The entire time she had known this boy, his family had always been his top priority. If he couldn’t keep them safe, how on earth was he expected to protect an entire country? Eilonwy bit her lip and averted her eyes.   
      Somewhere deep down, she wanted to console him but whatever shards of optimism and compassion she still had were buried below layer after layer of cynicism. Folding her arms across her chest, she shrugged her shoulders and simply stated, “I don’t know what to tell you.”   
      “Then tell me I didn’t mess up. Tell me that I’m not a horrible brother, that I didn’t disappoint the entire country by letting Edmund slip away” Peter replied. His voice was laced with desperation and his face grew frantic for reassurance. He needed to know he was good enough, that the mistakes he made could be remedied. The temperature increased. A lump had firmly lodged itself in Eilonwy’s throat and she was beginning to feel trapped by a rising wall of human emotion. Her heart raced in her chest and she suddenly grew extremely lightheaded. A sour electricity bubbled up inside of her until it finally exploded.   
      “I can’t! I can’t tell you that everything will be alright because it probably won’t! Nobody walks through the gates of that frozen hell and lives!” she shouted. Peter’s eyes widened, shocked by her sudden outburst, until his face quickly hardened and he gripped the hilt of his sword a bit tighter. Pressing a hand to her forehead, Eilonwy squeezed her eyes shut and heaved a massive sigh. “I need to shoot” she added, exasperated, before snatching her bow and speeding toward the archery range. Peter’s eyes followed her a moment, brimming with the slightest semblance of tears, before a sudden anger overwhelmed him. With a frustrated groan, he stormed after her.


	9. Chapter Eight

      Gripping her bow, Eilonwy rushed towards the solace of the archery range. Shooting at targets wasn’t quite as satisfying as hunting in the woods but it would have to suffice. As she surged forward, her ears picked up the sound of steadfast feet running after her and she whipped around to find Peter approaching. With a pained groan, she shouted, “What’s it going to take for me to get away from you?!” 

      Peter grimaced as he darted towards her, shouting back, “You can’t just yell at me and then walk away!” Eilonwy’s panic heightened as he drew closer and she tightened her grip on her weapon.   
      “Take one step closer and I swear, you’ll never procreate!” she yelled back, her hand reaching for the quiver at her side. In her nervous state, however, she couldn’t secure her grip on an arrow and as Peter edged up beside her, he snatched her bony wrist away. “Let me go! Unhand me!” she screamed, wiggling in his grasp like a child. Her bow slipped from her hand and fell to the ground with a soft thud.   
      “I’m not letting you go until you tell me what’s going on!” Peter demanded.  
      “It’s none of your business!” Eilonwy shouted back, desperate to release herself from his hold. Truthfully, she was shocked by his sudden act of dominance. However, he was asking far too much of her. She needed to escape now.   
      “Then stop giving me reasons to ask!” Peter countered. “If you don’t want anyone to ask what’s wrong, then stop making it so obvious that there’s a problem! I’m tired of you thinking you can get away with acting so rude toward everyone! No one said you had come here with us– you were given a choice– and to be quite honest, after everything you’ve put us through, I wish you had just stayed behind! All you’ve done is make everything ten times more difficult than it needs to be! My brother could be dead for all I know, but you couldn’t care less!” he raved, his voice beginning to crack at the thought of Edmund’s fate. Still, he pressed on. “If we’re such an inconvenience to you, then why don’t you just go home? I have much more important things to worry about than your whining! You’re just– just such a horrible person! You have no sympathy for anyone around you or any human decency, even! Every time you open your mouth, you just–!” he shouted until he realized Eilonwy had stopped squirming. Rather, she had fallen to her knees and went limp in his grasp. Tendrils of hair fell into her face and her entire body was quaking.   
      Peter paused a moment, taken aback by her abrupt collapse. It was never his intention to shatter her– she simply struck a nerve and his frustration took control. Viewing her in such a strange, destroyed state sent a jolt of fear coursing through his body, as if his words had killed her, and his glare softened as he swallowed hard. “D-Don’t try to pull that game with me, Eilonwy! I know what you’re doing and it won’t work!” he stammered. He expected her to shout back at him, to revert back to the cynical, angry girl he had known her as, but she ceased to make a sound. He shifted nervously, eyes darting around the camp, before hesitantly kneeling beside her. “E-Eilonwy, come on, now. Stop it. This isn’t going to work on me” he continued. Still, nothing. His heart pounded in his chest and he loosened his grip, murmuring shakily, “E-Eilonwy…? C-Come on now, stop it. This isn’t funny.”   
      A soft whimper escaped the girl’s throat as she curled deeper inside herself and buried her face in her hands. By now, her entire body was shaking tremendously and her flushed skin was damp with sweat. She didn’t want to speak. She didn’t want to move. She didn’t want to think or even look at the boy beside her. All she wanted was to simply be left alone. But Peter wasn’t a mind reader and Eilonwy was far too distraught to verbalize her needs. Therefore, the boy remained.  
      Nervously glancing about, Peter hesitantly reached out to lightly place a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “Eilonwy, come on. L-Look at me. Please, just…just tell me what’s the matter.” He was certain he had never seen anyone spiral this quickly and deeply into such a state of ruin, but it horrified him. He didn’t want to say or do anything that would further upset her for fear of actually, literally killing her.   
      At this point, Eilonwy had gone completely numb. Her heart pounded violently against her rib cage, threatening to explode from her chest. The entire world was spinning beneath her and she had no clue how to stop it. Mere inches away, she peeked through her fingers to catch an even clearer view of Peter’s face: his full lips, the angle of his jaw, the way his hair fell across his forehead. In their close proximity, his eyes were more piercing than ever and for a split second, she thought that perhaps if she just gauged them out and disposed of them once and for all, she’d finally be able to handle his presence.   
      Though he initially appeared confident and authoritative, she spied the muscles in his jaw clench and felt his warm, labored breath graze her skin. His eyes were wide and terrified. Her mind flickered back to the night they met, Jadis’s palace illuminated in the distance. She never should’ve succumbed to the temptation of adventure. Now she was drowning in a sea of foreign thoughts and feelings as a result. Gasping for breath, her lungs suffocated at the weight of her anxiety and she pressed her palms to her cheeks as if she was trying to deflate herself and disappear. “Leave…” she whispered hoarsely, her voice muffled from behind her hands. “Just…please go…”   
      Heaving a sigh, Peter furrowed his brows and remained at her side against her wishes. He didn’t trust her enough to leave her unsupervised. If something drastic was to happen while his back was turned, he would never forgive himself. “I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s the matter” he repeated, soft but demanding, with a shake of his head. He knew this degree of hysteria could only be fueled by a grave trauma and Peter was determined to unearth the backstory.   
      Uncovering her reddened face, Eilonwy sloppily ran a shaky hand across her nose and mouth and struggled to swallow back the lump rising in her throat. Peter’s harsh words echoed in her brain, slowly transforming her fear to frustration. “Peter, i-it’s nothing. I don’t want to talk about it” she retorted quietly. Brushing the hair from her face, she gathered up her skirts and forced herself up from the ground, stumbling a bit as she rose. As if they were in sync, Peter stood alongside her, his hand still resting on her shoulder. The longer it lingered, the more trapped Eilonwy felt until she finally swatted it away. Recoiling, Peter pursed his lips and eyed her suspiciously. Once he opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off before the sound could surface. “I said leave!” she shouted, voice strained. Still wobbly, she leaned down to retrieve her bow and then prepared to make her final escape.  
      As he watched her stomp away, Peter straightened his back and rested a hand upon his sword hilt, his expression quickly hardening. Drawing in a sharp breath, he demanded, “Why won’t you just accept my help?”   
      Eilonwy paused at his words, whipping around to face him. “Your help? No, you don’t want to help me. Not _really_. I’m a horrible person, remember? Besides, I don’t want your help. I don’t _need_ your help. I’m not some charity case you can remedy with your chivalry. I manage just fine on my own, thanks, so do me a favor and stop caring about me. You can’t even take care of your own family, let alone me or my country! You may be a conscript, but you’re not a hero” she rebuked.   
      Her harsh words sliced through Peter like knives, reducing him to shreds upon the dense ground. Defeated, he watched her turn on her heels to depart, groaning in frustration each time she stumbled. A tinge of fury rose from deep within Peter’s chest, shouts tangling in his throat that he refused to let idle. “Fine, go ahead! But you can’t run from your problems forever! Sooner or later, you’re going to run out of places to hide, so don’t come whining to me when you reach a dead end!” he called after her. Now she was the one impaled by the other’s words, pausing only a second to let them pierce her chest. Squeezing her eyes shut, she bit her lip and let the pain smack her in the face before shaking her head and disappearing. Peter watched her only a moment more before pressing a hand to his forehead and exhaling deeply. “I swear, this girl is going to give me such a headache” he whispered breathlessly.  
      Emotionally exhausted, Peter aimlessly wandered the campsite until retreating to a cliff overlooking the landscape. From such an altitude, the clanging of steel faintly reached his ears and the crimson tents below appeared minuscule. The crisp air was the perfect cure for a hazy mind and as he drank it in, he let his mind wander through the impact of recent events. He thought about home, about his sisters and brother, the impending war and all that had yet to happen. Eilonwy’s spiel rang in his ears, grinding away his confidence. _You may be a conscript, but you’re not a hero._ He dug the toe of his boot into the earth, knowing deep down she was right. Beneath all the expectations thrust upon him, he was nowhere near a hero. Rather, he was a terrified boy. His eyes searched the horizon for some kind of reassurance but found none. Instead, they fell upon a glistening beacon on the shore as a deep voice echoed from behind.  
      “That is castle Cair Paravel on the Eastern shore, the castle of the four thrones, in one of which you will sit, Peter, as High King” Aslan spoke, edging up beside the boy. Peter felt nearly insignificant compared to the beast’s grandeur and authority. The words _high king_ sent a shiver down his spine, a punch of reality to the severity of the situation. He could feel the crushing weight of responsibility burden his shoulders, bowing his head with a small shrug. “You doubt the prophecy?” Aslan inquired at Peter’s uncertainty.   
      “No, it’s just that…” he began, “Aslan, I’m not who people think I am.”   
      With a knowing nod, Aslan replied, “Peter Pevensie, formerly of Finchley. Aged sixteen years old and four months. Five feet, ten inches tall. Beaver also mentioned you planned on turning him into a hat.” A small smile spread across Peter’s lips, impressed the lion knew so much. A deep chuckle rose from Aslan’s throat before the tone dipped back into a serious nature. “Peter, there is a deep magic more powerful than any of us that rule over Narnia. It defines right from wrong and governs all our destinies: yours and mine” Aslan explained, looking up at the future king.   
      Peter listened intently, eyes locked on the beast beside him. A tiny sense of understanding was beginning to take flight deep within his chest, a hazy vision approaching from a great distance. “But I couldn’t even protect my own family!” he countered.  
      “You’ve brought them safely this far” Aslan remarked.  
      The boy’s eyes shifted from the lion to the twin peaks in the distance, the frigid palace jutting from between them. Visions of Edmund trapped inside, bruised and shackled, flashed through his mind and he was reminded of the promise he had made. “Not all of them” he replied in defeat.  
      “Peter, I will do all that I can to help your brother but you need to consider what I ask of you” Aslan replied. His gold eyes were full of wisdom and truth, yet burned wild. Scanning the camp below, he murmured solemnly, “I, too, want my family safe.”   
      Peter shifted his attention to the tents below, fauns and centaurs crossing paths carting heavy loads. All of Narnia’s people were Aslan’s family and Peter knew that soon, they would be part of his, as well. “I just want to make sure I’m making the right decisions. I’ve already disappointed everyone enough” he commented quietly.   
      Eyes still locked on the horizon, Aslan replied, “Do not worry yourself. When the time comes, you will know what to do.” Peter pursed his lips, his thumb grazing the pommel of his sword, and the beast caught notes of the boy’s still-present uncertainty. “There is more troubling you?”   
      “It’s just…” Peter began, unsure of how to properly word his thoughts. “These peoples’ lives are in my hands. I want to ensure I do them justice and be the king they deserve. I don’t want to mess up. Sometimes it feels like I already have.”   
      “Peter, it does not do well to dwell on past mistakes. You cannot change what has already happened, but what will happen is another matter entirely. Only you can decide how and when to remedy what has passed” Aslan reassured. He gazed up the boy with sympathetic eyes, brows furrowed in displeasure at Peter’s abundant doubt.  
      “It’s just so hard to know when everything I do is wrong” the boy replied uneasily.   
      “Something tells me this is about more than just Narnia” Aslan replied with a soft chuckle. A devilish smile spread across his lips. Peter’s face reddened at the implication, sheepishly averting his eyes from the beast’s. “Do you know why I chose you as High King, dear one?” Aslan asked. Peter pondered for only a moment before giving a minute shake of his head. “It is because you concern yourself profusely with other people’s needs. It is a rare trait that will benefit you greatly as High King. However, there are some wars in which we cannot always inject ourselves. Eilonwy has her own battles that she must face alone. She has suffered much more than you may realize.”   
      Peter’s cheeks heated at the lion’s blunt mention of the girl, a part of him astonished by the beast’s intimate knowledge. “I just want to help her, but she’s constantly pushing me away” the boy confided. “Aslan, there’s something strange about her.”   
      The lion shook his head with a sigh. “Peter, you must learn to listen to yourself first. Only then will you begin to understand. Do not force yourself upon her. She has faced many challenges and as such, has grown distant to the world. She will return in her own time, but you must be patient. She, too, is at the mercy of a deeper magic” he explained. A melancholic defeat enveloped  Peter at the beast’s words, slightly disappointed with  his advice. Truthfully, he was expecting something much more clear and concise, like a skillfully devised formula to rid him of his strife. With a sullen sigh, he gazed back upon the camp below, drowning in guilt and uncertainty.   
     Peter wasn’t the only one feeling distressed that afternoon. At the archery range, Eilonwy inhaled and drew another arrow back to her cheek. Drawing in a sharp inhale, she released absentmindedly and sent the thing whirring past the ear of a nearby faun. His tower of parcels tumbled to the ground and, in a bout of terror, he dove behind a nearby boulder with a despicable wail.   
      “Augh, sorry!” Eilonwy called after him, dissatisfied with her aim. Deeply entrenched in her thoughts, not even archery could quell her worries. Instead, her mind kept wandering back to Peter. Throughout their journey, he had been so cordial to her and yet she refused to accept his kindness. Quite frankly, he terrified her. Of all the acquaintances she had made over the years, he was the only one she felt genuinely threatened by. Each moment in his presence was a constant struggle to protect the walls she had erected around herself. She refused to trust so easily.   
      With each thought, she tunneled deeper and deeper into a pit of remorse. She pondered what might’ve happened had she stayed behind, roaming the woods like she had for years. She assumed she would feel much of the same panic regarding the seasons’ abrupt change, but certainly less of these other unforeseen feelings. While she didn’t necessarily consider it home, she missed Beaversdam and her little alcove by the window. She missed the nauseating smell of fish and chips and the way her head just barely grazed the ceiling. She missed Everlast and suddenly feared what may have become of her, quickly overwhelmed by a sickening regret at leaving her poor horse behind.  
      The longer she mulled over what could have been, the more the idea grew strangely unnerving. She couldn’t quite pinpoint why but imagining herself in the Western Woods during springtime, braiding flowers into her hair and dipping her feet into the stream, felt inexplicably wrong.   
      Heaving a sigh, Eilonwy surrendered to her thoughts and trudged forward to retrieve her arrows. Her usually impeccable aim would need considerable practice if she was to put her skills to use in battle. Just as she tugged the last arrow from the burlap target, her ears perked up at the unmistakable sound of an ivory horn in the distance. She identified the source immediately, her heart leaping in her throat. In one swift motion, she gathered her weapons and raced to the side of the danger. It wasn’t until she was weaving through the trees that she began to comprehend what she was even doing, yet her body raced forward at the dismay of her brain. Her instinct was evidence enough that despite whatever contempt she held at forging attachments, she was undeniably beginning to foster a fondness for these godforsaken siblings. She cursed herself under her breath as she sprinted forward.  
      Darting ahead, she quickly found herself flanked by armored satyrs, leopards, and fauns, her eyes following their path to the great lion leading the pack. As she sprinted alongside them, she caught a glimpse of Oreius glancing towards her with a smirk as if she didn’t belong among them. His expression only fueled her further as she raced through the stream and skidded to a halt at the water’s edge.   
      In the small clearing before them, Peter adopted a firm stance with sword extended toward the wolves circling him. Maugrim bared his teeth, spewing insults and patronization toward the boy just as he had at the waterfall. Unlike their last encounter, however, Peter clenched his jaw in determination as he stared down his opponent. Braking before the scene, Aslan stamped a firm paw upon Maugrim’s confidant. Oreius sidled up beside him, preparing his blade to slay but was quickly stopped.  
      “Stay your weapons. This is Peter’s battle” Aslan instructed. The boy briefly glanced towards the army before returning his focus to the fight at hand. Perched in the branches of a nearby tree were his sisters, biting their lips and praying for Peter’s safety. Eilonwy’s breath hitched in her throat, mouth agape, paralyzed ankle-deep in the creek.   
      Snapping his jaw, Maugrim growled, “You may think you’re a king but you’re going to die like a dog!” Then, in one swift motion, the wolf pounced and sent Peter and himself tumbling toward the shore. Screams erupted from Susan and Lucy as they leapt from the tree and slid into the grass beside their brother’s lifeless body. An immense pang of pain struck Eilonwy’s chest at the sight, clapping a hand to her mouth as she fought to regain her breath. Her heart pounded in her ears and she desperately wanted to rush forward but was terrified of what would ensue should Peter be dead. She didn’t even want to humor the possibility. Her last words to him echoed in her brain and a sour taste filled her mouth. _You may be a conscript, but you’re not a hero._  
      Engulfed in fear, Susan and Lucy shoved Maugrim’s corpse off of Peter’s chest. Time slowed to a creep as everyone awaited the verdict. A lump rose in Eilonwy’s throat, he cheeks blushing as the slightest semblance of tears rose from behind her eyes. A vise grip took hold of her lungs, her eyes locked on Peter’s body.  
      Peter bolted upright in one steadfast motion, staring in disbelief at the creature he had just killed. His sword lay beside the corpse, it’s bloodied tip still inserted into the wolf’s flesh. Watering eyes trailed from the dead body to his sisters, Susan and Lucy sighing and grinning as they pulled his trembling body into a massive embrace. A huge weight disintegrated from Eilonwy’s shoulders and she nearly collapsed in relief, her knees knocking together unsteadily.   
      Lifting his paw off the second wolf, Aslan watched Maugrim’s accompaniment sprint into the wilderness. “After him. He will lead you to Edmund” the lion instructed. Oreius nodded, leading the soldiers into the woods in obedience. Aslan then turned his attention to the Pevensies, commanding Peter to clean his sword. The boy gave a minute nod, still reeling in disbelief, before rising alongside his sisters. Susan retrieved a towel slung over a nearby branch and handed it to her brother, who cringed slightly as he pulled the blade from Maugrim’s body.  
      “What about _him._..?” Lucy asked uncomfortably, eyeing the lifeless creature. Aslan simply strode forward and clamped his teeth into the wolf’s flesh. Lifting the creature from the grass, the lion then carried the body to a concealed patch for disposal. The humans glanced over curiously in hopes of glimpsing the strange secretive procedure but found no such success.   
      “It is finished. There is no need to concern yourselves with what is left of the beast” Aslan announced upon his return. Susan and Lucy gave brief nods in understanding before the lion turned to face Peter. The boy swiped the blood from his blade before tossing the towel aside and inspecting his work. Freshly cleaned, the steel glimmered magnificently in the sunlight and a glint of satisfaction crossed Peter’s face. As Aslan approached, he instructed the boy to kneel before him with a simple nod. Peter obeyed, dropping to the grass and bowing his head, as the beast placed a paw upon his shoulder.  
      “Rise, Sir Peter Wolfsbane, knight of Narnia” Aslan commanded, his deep voice regal and authoritative. An astonished grin crossed Peter’s face as he rose slowly, glancing to his sisters nearby. Likewise, they greeted his joy with genuine pride for his accomplishment, a bright smile gracing Lucy’s face as she clasped her hands together excitedly.   
      Peter glanced back at the lion with newfound confidence, the two sharing a dignified and respectful gaze. Despite his argument earlier that day, the boy felt more certain now than ever before that perhaps he truly was fit for this role bestowed upon him. He had succeeded in his rite of passage and, consequently, his confidence soared.  
      Upon viewing his knighthood, Eilonwy was suddenly filled with a strange and peculiar mix of emotions. One part was engulfed in regret for the hateful comments she had spewed toward him earlier that day. From the other, however, came a new sensation she couldn’t quite decipher. Something perhaps akin to security, as if the milestone had established Peter’s trustworthiness. He was no longer a boy but a knight, appointed by the great lion himself, and almost immediately everything seemed different.   
      Sheathing his sword, Peter turned to greet his sisters as they rushed over to congratulate him. Aslan watched for but a moment before slowly departing from the scene, glancing to Eilonwy as he went. A small, knowing smile graced his lips as he watched her. In her expression, he sensed an unspoken affection blossoming from within the deepest caverns of her soul. It pleased him to see her surrendering to the divine sensation and with a small nod, he encouraged her to join the others. Meekly shaking her head, however, she respectfully declined. It didn’t feel appropriate to intrude on such a familial celebration, especially after her and Peter’s recent argument. Instead, she opted to simply keep her distance regardless of whatever compulsions she felt to burst into the scene.   
      In the midst of their embraces, Peter caught sight of the girl in his peripheral vision and paid her a quick glance. She met his eyes with a simple, approving nod, a small smile flashing across her lips. As they continued their celebratory affections, Eilonwy quietly snuck back to camp, not wanting to linger on the outskirts of their congratulations. However, as she departed, she caught herself repeatedly peeking over her shoulder to glimpse at the siblings, then silently cursing herself each time she did. Deep down, she could feel something strange begin to surface and as she returned to her tent, she was forced to admit that perhaps Peter Pevensie, now Sir Peter Wolfsbane, had the makings of a hero after all.


	10. Chapter Nine

      Upon their return, a great feast awaited the Pevensies in celebration of Peter’s knighthood. It was comparatively modest considering their circumstances but appreciated nonetheless. Torches burned in the twilight and cast a warm glow over the valley as soldiers picked apart a smorgasbord of meats, fruits, cheeses, and pastries. Fauns improvised with the tools at their disposal to play rousing, earthy music and soon everyone was locking arms and twirling freely. 

     While Peter was grateful for the small celebration, his mind wandered to all that still lie ahead. Edmund had yet to return and there was still a great war impending. As discreetly as he tried to manage his thoughts, his dancing partner could easily tell the knight was distraught and paused abruptly, a grimace crossing her face.   
      “There is something troubling you, is there not?” the dryad questioned. Not paying attention, Peter whammed right into the spirit, her leaves ruffling from the impact. She gasped, flustered, and crossed her arms in displeasure. Peter quickly muttered an apology, his face reddening in embarrassment, before shaking his head and writing his concerns off as nothing. The dryad, however, was not easily fooled and, frustrated with his preoccupation, floated away to find a more attentive dance partner.  
      From across the way, Eilonwy couldn’t help but stifle a chuckle at the nymph’s aggravation. Rather than join the celebration, the girl kept to herself near the refreshments, guzzling glasses of ale and scarfing down countless turkey legs. It didn’t feel right for her to partake in the festivities. After all, it was Peter’s party and she wasn’t at the liberty to intrude after everything she had said to him earlier. Besides, she was content to keep to herself anyways, observing the festivities and lightly swaying to the music.   
      “I see you resent the company of others. Why don’t you enjoy all that is offered to you, dear one?” a deep voice suddenly spoke, stirring the girl from her entertainment. Gulping back another swig of ale, she was met with the wild face of the lion himself. She nearly choked on her drink at the sight of him approaching, not expecting him to speak with her individually. He was even more grand and intimidating up close.   
      Pounding her fist against her chest, she caught her breath and swiped the excess fluid from her lips with the back of her hand. “It’s not my party” she replied breathlessly. In truth, she wasn’t quite sure how to act in front of such a magnificent being and was overwhelmed with anxiety in his presence. Her vow to spit in his eye suddenly rang in her brain and she gave a minute shake of her head at the thought. _Spit in his eye, my ass. Spit in his eye and he’ll surely bite my face off_ , she thought to herself. Gathering her composure, she finally added, “Besides, I’m not much of a dancer.” However, Aslan could see right through her cavalier excuses and grimaced suspiciously. His eyes bore holes into her head and she quickly averted her own in discomfort.   
      Despite his disappointment, the lion couldn’t force Eilonwy to participate and therefore simply sighed and replied, “As you wish, child. But remember this as I part: you are confined only by the walls you build yourself. Do not let meager opportunities go to waste.” Here, Aslan glanced into the crowd, his eyes landing on Peter for a split second, before bowing his head and departing. Eilonwy watched the beast disappear with a frustrated sigh, finishing off another glass of ale and mulling over his words for the remainder of the night. She hated his philosophical ramblings yet knew he made a very poignant point.  
      As the moon sat high overhead, the festival’s energy slowly dwindled. A soft breeze extinguished the torches’ blaze and drunken fauns collapsed into the grass for a long, balmy slumber. Lucy had dozed off early in the night, her head resting upon the tabletop, and Peter hoisted her into his arms to carry her off to bed. Seated on a nearby boulder, Eilonwy sipped another glass of ale as she eyed the siblings with a hard, anxious gaze. They bid the conscious few a goodnight before retreating to their quarters in weighted, sluggish motions. Eyes locked on the trio, Aslan’s resounding advice charged Eilonwy with a stinging electricity, a strange and potent sensation buzzing deep within her chest. It coursed through her veins and ignited her limbs until she took one last swig of ale, gathered up her skirts, and rushed across the pathway towards the residential tents.  
      By the time she skidded to a halt at the cul de sac, the Pevensies had already latched their curtains shut for the night. Pursing her lips, she bolted into her own quarters for only a moment, slinging her satchel over her shoulder before slowly approaching Peter’s chambers. With a deep breath, she leaned forward, cupped her hands around her mouth, and whispered softly, “Pssttt…Peter? I suppose asking for a word wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?”   
      Mistaking the voice for his sister’s, Peter tugged the curtain’s closure open and allowed his guest entry. The flap blew open and Eilonwy slipped inside slowly and quietly, arms wrapped around her chest. Even though the knight had approved her request, she still felt as if she was trespassing and therefore stepped cautiously. The tent was dark inside save for the faint light of a candle atop a small nightstand against which Peter’s sword and shield leaned. With his back to the entry, Peter was just unfastening his leather vest when he opened his mouth to speak. However, before he could produce any sound, he turned to find it hadn’t been Susan standing in the doorway. Whatever words he planned to speak caught in his throat and presented themselves in startled, fragmented noises. “W-what are you doing here?” he finally asked.  
      “You bade me inside, remember?” Eilonwy replied, her voice coated in sass. She crossed her arms and eyed him curiously, awaiting his response. As far as she could remember, she had never seen him quite so flustered before and frankly, it was rather amusing.  
      “I thought you were Susan!” he explained frantically, tossing his vest onto a nearby chair. If he had the confidence, he would’ve shoved her out of his tent that instant but something about her presence caused him to immediately recoil. Once he composed himself, he then asked, “Did you, uh, did you want something or did you just come here to continue insulting me?”  
      Though his words stung, Eilonwy cringed for only a moment. “No, I actually came here to, uh…to apologize” she spoke. The initial force of her voice quickly waned into a nervous stammer, causing Peter to loosen his stance in response. Apologies weren’t exactly the girl’s forte so issuing them was strange and a little unsettling. She hesitantly stepped forward and then motioned towards his hammock, silently asking if it was alright to sit. Peter gave a small nod, watching as she cautiously perched herself on the edge and folded her hands in her lap, as if she was afraid to touch anything. “I, uh, I know I haven’t exactly been the most, erm…pleasant company these past few days and I wanted to formally apologize. It was wrong for me to treat you and your sisters as rudely as I did, as I’m well aware you already have enough to concern yourself with. You don’t need some belligerent ass making even more of a mess of your already crap life.” Here, she looked up at him and pursed her lips, patiently awaiting his response.   
      While her apology was a little unorthodox, he was appreciative just the same. Releasing a soft sigh, he pushed his vest aside and seated himself upon the adjacent chair. “Well, thank you” he said with a brief nod, unsure of what else to say.   
      The two of them sat in an awkward silence for a moment before Eilonwy finally opened her mouth to speak again. “Congratulations, by the way, on the, uh, the knighthood and everything. You, uh, you deserve it.” Peter, again, was taken aback by her words. Here was a girl who just earlier that day tore him to shreds about his lackluster qualifications and now she was claiming he deserved the title he had been given. Her contradictions were a little unnerving and Peter was unsure whether to believe her or not. However, she spoke with an ingenuity that he knew only the most skilled liars could fake.   
      “Thank you. I have to say, though, I wasn’t expecting to get such a party for it” he replied sheepishly. Eilonwy couldn’t help but find his modesty somewhat charming. Beginning to grow more comfortable in his presence, she chuckled and leaned back in the hammock, rocking slightly in it’s swing.  
      “If you think that was grand, you ought to see the celebrations they used to have at Cair Paravel. There would be massive bands playing fantastic music and tables filled with candies as far as the eye can see. Oh, and the decorations were beautiful. Fresh flowers everywhere” she raved, a small smile hinting at her lips. Peter laughed softly at the image, refreshed to see her speak so passionately about something positive for a change. A part of him was curious as to how she even knew such information if the castle had been vacant for a century but he didn’t dare confront her on the matter. He didn’t want to ruin whatever progress he was making in these intimate moments. Besides, a more significant thought was taking precedence.   
      “I just wish Edmund could’ve been there” Peter murmured, averting his eyes. “I’m sure he would’ve loved it, at least for the food if nothing else.” The pain strangling his voice struck Eilonwy in the center of her chest. For the second time that day, Peter was confiding in her yet this time, she realized she wasn’t quite so afraid.   
      Chuckling softly, she rubbed her arms as a sad smile crossed her face. “I can only imagine. You never really appreciate something until it’s gone. Or someone.” Peter’s head snapped up to face her, furrowing his brows curiously. Up until then, he never really considered that she must have a mother and father, and perhaps siblings, somewhere. Or at least ones that weren’t beavers. Certainly he had been curious about her backstory but now that he was being spoonfed hints, he was terrified. After a few more moments of silence, Eilonwy met his gaze with sullen eyes and murmured, “Peter, will you do me a small favor?”   
      “That depends what it is” he replied quietly. A million and one scenarios began flurrying through his brain, horrified of what request may spill from her mouth.  
      “Promise me you won’t be too hard on your brother. You may not realize just how huge an impact all of this has probably left on him. Betraying your family…it certainly leaves irrevocable scars” she whispered. Her voice was low and hoarse, strangled by the hands of an unspoken past. Her words only made Peter that much more curious, giving a meek nod in reply.   
      “I’ll do my best” he whispered back. Once more, they slipped into another long and defeaning silence, the weight of words desperate to be said lingering in the dense, humid air. Peter wanted to take advantage of her vulnerability to finally inquire about her past but whatever questions he wished to ask tangled in his throat and choked him silent. After a few unending minutes, Eilonwy met his eyes with an uncharacteristic weakness and shifted slightly in her seat.  
      “Peter, will you do me another favor?” she croaked.  
      “What is it?” he replied. Scooting over on the hammock, she patted the space beside her with a sheepish smile. Peter rose with a deep breath and carefully sat next to her, their sides pressed against one another. A small, hollow smile flashed across her face a moment before mouthing a silent thank you and it wasn’t until then that Peter really got a decent look at her. Truthfully, he was taken aback by how contradictory she appeared: her childish face was burdened with all the weariness of an elderly man. Her round features were youthful and inviting yet her hazel eyes burned with a fierce sadness accompanied by thick, vicious brows. She was deathly pale and unnaturally thin, a corpse of a woman, though her muscles were toned and knotted beneath her papery skin. Tangled hair fell in her face, disappearing into the black of night and contrasting against her flesh. And when she smiled– truly, genuinely smiled– she flashed a set of crooked, off-white teeth and her face contorted into a series of sharp, exaggerated lines. The longer he looked at her, the more physically undesirable she seemed, yet he couldn’t quite pinpoint why a strange hunger was taking hold of his stomach at being so close to her.   
      Peter stilled immediately as she gazed up at him, yearning to speak yet remaining silent. Rather, she slowly swung her satchel into her lap and reached inside to gingerly retrieve a wooden box. Peter instantly recognized it as the beautifully ornate box Father Christmas had given her, his brows furrowing in confusion. Even in the midnight, it’s scrying stone glistened gold and a cloud of light surrounded it’s rough texture. Eilonwy twisted to face the boy, settling the box into her lap, before breaking the silence. “I’m not often one to trust easily for a multitude of reasons. However, I believe you fully deserve to know of who is allying with you and I can no longer deny you that right. I believe perhaps I can trust you. I hope I’m not wrong in thinking that. Please don’t prove me wrong.”   
      Her words and body language were beginning to scare Peter, but he remained silent for fear of what she might do if he protested. Drawing in a gulp of air, she reached out and gently grasped his hand. Her palms were cold and clammy and trembling and her usually pale face had reduced to a sickening tinge of green. Glancing up at him, she shakily demanded he close his eyes. He obeyed, stiffening in uncertainty. Without a single word, she guided his hand to the box and rested his palm upon the lid’s stone. Though no warmer than the outside air, it stung cold beneath his flesh as if it was made of menthol and by instinct, he nearly tugged his hand away. Before he could break free of Eilonwy’s iron grasp, however, a hazy vision began clarifying from the black. 

      Dust particles floated through the afternoon sunlight as four pairs of ears pressed impatiently against the massive doorway. It had been seventeen hours since the young princesses received the news. Seventeen hours and if they were forced to wait a single moment more, the four of them were certain they would explode. Footsteps increased in volume and the young girls frantically shoved one another towards the nearby chaise. The doorknob slowly turned, the door creaked open, and the tired, brawny face of their beloved father peeked through the slit.   
      “Come in quietly now, loves. There’s someone here to meet you” he whispered hoarsely, his eyes bloodshot and sunken. Helene was the first to step forward, poised and confident. The other three followed suit. Tiptoeing into the dimly lit chambers, they were met with the most surreal image. Propped up against endless pillows sat their mother, her usually regal appearance racked by the repercussions of childbirth. Her brow was dewy with sweat and her platinum hair fell in a crown of stringy tendrils around her face. Her nightgown was rumpled and fell off one shoulder. Close to her breast was the vision of a squirmy, purple baby sucking at the queen’s nipple. Each girl stepped cautiously closer, consumed with a mix of curiosity and disdain. Being the eldest, Helene had much more experience with the initial viewing of new siblings and therefore shouldn’t have really been phased by the sight. However, her final sister was something different than what she was accustomed to. Unlike the others, this child was fussy and ugly with tufts of black hair matted against her head and dark, earthy eyes that mimicked their mother’s. If neither of them had heard the echoed screams, they would’ve assumed their parents had kidnapped the thing, it bore so little resemblance to it’s predecessors.   
      “What kind is it?” Elara asked, wrinkling her nose. King Lorr chuckled softly and patted the princess on the head.   
      “A girl” he replied, almost sadly. The fifth girl. Of every conception between him and his wife, all they were gifted with were girls. For once, King Lorr expected the opposite. His wife swore this pregnancy felt different. Their advisor, a wise old centaur, had very conspicuous theories of the unborn child– grave visions of misfortune and greed. An anachronism of a child. The great king pursed his lips.   
      His wife, however, remained unconcerned. Perhaps she was just drowning in the throes of afterbirth delirium. She stroked the baby’s cheek affectionately, eyes locked on her unpleasant little face, and cooed, “Eilonwy…my sweet, precious Eilonwy…”   
      Elara’s face suddenly contorted in disgust. “Eilonwy? What kind of a name is that?” she spat. Her elder sister Amalthea placed a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder, as if she expected her touch to calm her.   
      “W-well, I think it’s a lovely name! A lovely name for a…a lovely baby” Helene spoke, forcing herself to sound positive. She knew whatever aura she emitted would soon influence the others. After all, she was the leader. Anything and everything she said was obeyed.   
      The cherry blossoms flurried outside the window in the late spring breeze and the midwife scurried over to let in the sunlight. Her apron was still stained with blood and there was blood on the sheets and blood on the nightgown and blood on the baby and there was so much blood one might’ve thought someone committed murder in that goddamn room. Ironic how it was just the aftermath of life.   
      As the baby grew, she proved even harder to manage than expected. Cair Paravel was a wonderland to someone as small as she and therefore, Eilonwy was easy to lose track of. Many an afternoon, the nurses fought to compose themselves as they rushed down hallways and through courtyards searching for the little brat. In most cases, she was hiding under dining tables or beneath bedsheets. However, one afternoon was not so mundane. A shriek echoed through the castle as two nannies rushed to the source of the sound. Barging into King Lorr’s office, they discovered the four elder princesses struggling to reach their baby sister from atop the mantel. Twin swords were mounted above the fireplace in a cross formation, Eilonwy straining to reach the one’s hilt. The sharp blade glistened in the sunlight.   
      Queen Primrose nearly fainted upon hearing such a tale, Amalthea gently grasping her hand in comfort. In contrast, the king was rather amused, scooping his youngest into his arms and chuckling at her resolve. “What a scrappy wee lass, you are, Ellie” he murmured in amusement, bouncing her and watching as she wiggled in his grasp. “What a sweet, scrappy lass.” It was in that instant that something within the king took flight. Of all his daughters, Eilonwy was the only one thus far who seemed to challenge all of Cair Paravel’s staff. Her disobedience and yearning was admirable and gazing affectionately at the raven-haired tyke, a bond was instantly forged. He may not have had a son but he knew in that moment he had a protegee.   
      From then on, King Lorr devoted many an afternoon to his youngest daughter. On the eve of her sixth birthday, he stirred her from her sleep to hoist her out of bed and carry her to the stables.   
      “What are you doing, Papa?” she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and resting a chubby cheek on his shoulder.   
      “I’ve got a special present for you, my wee one” he whispered, his voice filled with secrecy. Eilonwy furrowed her brows in confusion, squinting in the darkness as her father approached his stallion’s stall. Once inside, he plopped Eilonwy into the hay and lit a candle, directing it’s light towards a strange object hidden in the corner. “Go to it, love. See what it is” he murmured.  
      Forcing herself up from the ground, she toddled over to the gift. Leaning against the wall, the tall present was wrapped in leather and twine with a small card tucked into the fastening. 

      A smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she crumpled the note in her hand and viciously tore apart the packaging. Inside was a beautiful sword, the perfect weight and size for a small but feisty princess. It’s hilt was bound in chocolate leather and topped with a brass pommel engraved with trees. While the blade was thin, it remained strong and sharp just like it’s owner.   
      As she grinned admirably at her gift, King Lorr placed a large hand on his daughter’s shoulder. “What are you to name it?” he inquired.  
      “Name it?” she asked, wrinkling her nose as she looked up at him.  
      He nodded. “All great swordsmen name their swords. What are you to name yours?”   
      Eilonwy pursed her lips in thought for a moment, staring hard at the weapon. Even in the days when she dreamt of upgrading from a silly wooden saber, she never really considered the subject of names. After a few moments, however, she finally came to a conclusion. “Beowulf! My sword shall be named Beowulf!” she announced proudly. King Lorr smiled down upon his daughter in response to her choice.   
      “Ah, Beowulf! Yes, that is a very wise choice, my dear one. Beowulf, the strong and heroic warrior whose name shall certainly bring great fortune to your blade!” he spoke jovially. Eilonwy grinned at her father’s approval, leaping up to pull him into a massive embrace.   
      When Queen Primrose discovered her daughter’s gift the next morning, she was, as expected, greatly opposed. “She’s six years old, Lorr! Young girls should not be prancing around swinging weapons!” she whispered harshly from behind closed doors. Like most instances, Elara pressed her cheek to the wood to eavesdrop.   
      “Primmy, try to keep your head on. You know how you are when you get all riled up. We wouldn’t want you to give yourself a headache” King Lorr replied. His wife crossed her arms and huffed in frustration.   
      “Lorr, do not belittle me. Your desperation for a son does not give you the right to raise your youngest daughter like one! Can’t you direct your masculine cravings to one of an appropriate gender?” Primrose tried to compromise. Her husband sighed and rubbed his temples, turning to gaze out the window. The Narnian shore stretched out before him, the waves lapping against the sand and glistening in the sunlight.  
      “Learning to fight is essential. I’m certain your mind ceases to comprehend such blunt facts so I ought to lace them with flowers for you to better understand. You and the girls, you possess a certain poise and grace that comes naturally to most women. It doesn’t to Ellie. Perhaps her birth was a mistake and she was meant to be a Son of Adam, one can never know for sure. All I’m certain of is that she has a calling, love, and unfortunately for you it’s not patchwork and dandelions. This girl can fight. She _wants_ to fight. She’s wanted to since she was a babe, you know that. Had she not, she wouldn’t have reached for that sword above the mantel” the king explained. Halfway through his spiel, he turned to face his horrified wife, then motioned towards the twin blades mounted on the wall.   
      Queen Primrose squeezed her eyes shut tight, gripping a handkerchief to her chest. Her husband spoke with such passion and ingenuity for their youngest that it was hard to debate, yet she was still overcome with a sickening dread at the thought of her baby managing weapons. “I just…I just want to ensure Ellie stays safe” she finally murmured. King Lorr approached his wife and gently gripped her shoulders, gazing into her hazel eyes with such certainty that a sob broke free from her throat.  
      “She will be, love. No doubt about it, she will be. Ellie’s a brave and scrappy lass, she’ll surely castrate a man before letting him scratch her” he reassured. A pained giggle choked from the queen’s throat and Lorr tilted her chin upward to meet her gaze, then planted a kiss on her forehead. “She’ll be fine.”   
      As the years progressed, King Lorr spent many an afternoon in the courtyards training Eilonwy to fight and defend. He ordered his staff to erect straw men to act as her opponents, leaping and swinging at them in the afternoon sun until they were reduced to piles of hay.   
      “At least she has some form of anger management” Helene remarked, flanking her mother at the parlor window as they sipped their tea. The elder sisters had all grown into beautiful, cherubic young women with porcelain skin, glassy eyes, and glistening, platinum hair. They inherited all the poise and elegance of their mother and spent most days beside her engaging in polite pastimes fit for regal princesses.  
      “I wouldn’t be surprised if she ended up chopping an arm off at this rate” Elara snarled, poking at a square of gelatin with her fork.   
      “We must have faith that all is as Aslan intends” Amalthea murmured from the chaise. Her mother and sisters paid her a moment’s glance, the girl’s nose buried in a thick book of small, religious print. Elara scoffed and returned her attention to her jiggling dessert.  
      “Ammie is right, girls. We must have faith that Eilonwy is as Aslan intends” Primrose reassured, skating to her second eldest to plant a gentle kiss upon her head. A meek smile spread across Amalthea’s face. Her eyes remained locked on her readings.   
      “I still think it’s rather vulgar” Elara commented.   
      “No more so than your strange preoccupation” her twin sister Andrastea replied, toying with a pink rose drooping in the delicate vase upon the table. “I think it’s quite refreshing, truthfully. To think, perhaps someday she’ll meet a brave knight to sweep her off her feet and they can run wildly together through the woods. I think that would be lovely” she cooed. Her twin rolled her eyes.   
      “Who would ever love _her?_ If you ask me, she ought to just shove a sausage in her breeches and enlist in the army. That would the best use of her” Elara snickered.   
      “Girls, please. Let us not gossip of our beloved sister. Her differences may be stark but she is our still our dear baby Ellie and we must love her regardless of her affliction” Helene commanded, seating herself at the head of the table. Primrose smiled softly at her eldest daughter, pleased with her leadership skills. There was no doubt in the queen’s mind that Helene would make a fine ruler of Narnia upon assuming the thone as heir.   
      Within the weeks that followed, King Lorr had taken a sampling of his wife’s advice and hired a knight to serve as his second in command. The young man hailed from Archenland, barely 20, and was quite the opponent on the battlefield. His name was Sir Rolf and King Lorr held him in very high esteem. As his youngest practiced, the king brought his new charge to the courtyard to observe Eilonwy’s skill. Lorr grinned, crossing his arms, as he proudly watched his little girl. Rolf was certainly entertained and, with a sly grin, drew his rapier and snuck up behind the princess. In one fluid motion, he charged and their blades clashed. Eilonwy screamed at the stranger, swinging at him rapidly, but her anxiety overwhelmed her and tainted her ability. It wasn’t until then that the king noticed his daughter struggling and rushed out to halt her from frantically tearing the knight to shreds.   
      Rushing up behind her, Lorr grasped her wrists and hushed her shouts, reassuring her that she had nothing to worry about and that she was not met with a trespasser but a new friend.   
      “You fight reasonably well for a girl” Rolf said, sheathing his sword and extending a hand. Eilonwy eyed him suspiciously, glancing back to her father in confusion.  
      “Papa, w-who is this stranger?” she stammered. The man was broad and burly with tousled hair and a thick beard. His eyes glimmered emerald and his hands were obviously strong and able.   
      “Ellie, dear, this is Sir Rolf of Archenland. I have appointed him the new head knight of Narnia’s army and he will be residing with us now” the king explained. A look of sickening pride crossed Rolf’s face at the sound of it: head knight. Eilonwy narrowed her eyes up at him and, rightfully so, refused his hand.   
Rolf’s presence suddenly hiked the elder princesses interest in all the training they had previously condemned. They began sipping their tea on the balcony and watching as Rolf pummelled Eilonwy in nearly every match.   
      “He will prove a valuable asset in battle, I’m sure” Helene mused, stirring her tea. Her sisters all nodded in agreement, eyes locked on his muscular form and fluid movements.   
      “I bet battle isn’t the only thing he’s valuable in” Elara smirked, eyeing his codpiece. Her comment was met with a stern glare and light smack on the hand from her mother.   
      “I suggest you please try and restrain yourself, Elara. Your inappropriate remarks are not suitable conversation for a princess” the queen scolded. She sat bolt upright in her chair, an obvious tensity holding her body rigid. Watching her youngest engage in such rough swordplay still electrified her nerves and she refused to take her eyes off the scene below.   
      Eilonwy looked up at the sun and smirked, sweat beading on her brow. From it’s position, she deduced she had been sparring for a little over two hours. Her father had sent Rolf on a routine expedition to check the woodland security and therefore, the princess was left to practice without any of the knight’s belittling. Running a hand through her hair, she rushed around the courtyard slashing at straw soldiers and hurdling over bushes and benches alike. She only wished she was on a real battlefield. However, as she jumped up upon one of the nearby benches, something in the distance caught her eye. It was strange and dark, soaring through the sky with a massive wingspan. An hideous caw echoed through the trees and she furrowed her brows as she stepped nearer to inspect. It disappeared before she could get a decent view of it.   
      Within the following weeks, the whole of Cair Paravel erupted in a fit of chaos. Florists, musicians, bakers, and seamstresses of every species scurried down hallways and through courtyards in preparation for visiting nobles from Galma. The island’s relations with Narnia had been strained for the past few generations so when King Lorr caught wind of the lord and lady bringing their young son, he saw great potential in the man as a possible suitor. After all, the king knew the only way to properly settle their accounts would be to forge an official alliance through marriage. Most of the princesses shared their excitement upon hearing such news, gushing of rumors regarding the young man’s physicality and stature. Eilonwy, however, was not so pleased. She was most certainly not a prize to be auctioned or a product to be sold so she was further annoyed by how much she felt like one, forced to miss practice just to be poked with needles by seamstresses with shoddy eyesight. The king demanded each of his daughters be sewn a brand new dress for the day of their guests’ arrival in hopes of making a grand first impression. All Eilonwy could think about was how her inevitable arrangement would mean relinquishing her sword for a husband. That thought alone boiled her blood more than any of the decorative nonsense.  
      In the midst of their preoccupations, however, the royals had yet to realize their neglect of more pressing matters. Concerned messages began to slowly trickle into Cair Paravel’s post. Many of them were from marshwiggles along the River Shribble warning of strange occurrences. As the weeks passed, the letters grew more frequent and frantic until they were simply sentence fragments scribbled onto crumpled papers speaking of massive armies from the north.   
      Late one afternoon, as Eilonwy returned from the courtyard, she spied her father looking rather distraught from the doorway of his office. Inching her way inside, she murmured, “Papa, is everything alright?”   
      The instant he heard her voice, his head snapped up from his hands and he pasted a fake smile upon his face. “Yes, of course. Everything’s quite alright. Did you have a decent practice?” he asked with false interest.  
      “Yes…” she answered slowly, eyeing her father with great suspicion. Her vision darted to the messages stacked upon the desk, catching only a couple words, before returning to the king’s sunken eyes. Her concern was easy to detect and as King Lorr rose from his chair, he grasped his youngest daughter’s shoulders and reassured her once more. Planting a kiss upon her forehead, he then excused himself and sauntered out of the room.   
      Eilonwy stood there for only a moment before glancing down the corridors to ensure the area was safe. Then, ever so quietly, she sped to the desk and began shuffling through the many papers. Her heart raced as she saw the messages increase in terror, reading of the giants and cyclops pillaging the land. She pictured all those poor, helpless creatures in the Western Wood and Allies Enclave whose homes were so ruthlessly destroyed and pondered who this cruel monster may be. The worst, however, was in the scrambled penmanship of a shy squirrel from Lantern Waste. Eilonwy skimmed his letter before locking her eyes on the last sentence, a lump lodging in her throat. _The Tree of Protection has been destroyed._  
      “What are you doing?!” a voice called from the doorway. Eilonwy whipped around to find her eldest sister glaring at her, outraged. “You’re reading father’s papers, aren’t you?!” Helene shouted. As much as she tried to love her little sister, in recent months Eilonwy’s disobedience was becoming more of a nuisance and the eldest princess was growing increasingly frustrated with her. Surging forward, she gripped Eilonwy’s wrist and pulled her into the hallway, slamming the office door shut. She refused to admit she had so much as glimpsed at those letters.  
      In truth, the pressure of one day assuming the throne was becoming a heavier burden upon Helene’s shoulders. With each passing day, she grew closer and closer to taking over for her parents and running the whole of Narnia. She loved her country, of course, yet was beginning to doubt her abilities in running it properly. Amalthea would reassure her that all was as Aslan intended and that if she was unfit to become queen, Aslan would not have made it so yet Helene had difficulty believing such a thing was true. She could barely keep her own baby sister in line, let alone the population of an entire country.   
      Helene fumed as she dragged Eilonwy down the hallway. “What do you expect to do with me? If you tell Papa, he’ll surely be just as mad at you for peeking inside!” Eilonwy shouted. The eldest princess halted, sucking in a sharp breath.   
      “I’m not about to let you wiggle your way out of a punishment!” Helene fired back, whipping around to face her sister. She was a great deal taller than Eilonwy, thus contributing to her intimidation.  
      Eilonwy glared up at the future queen, clenching her jaw and fighting to break free of her iron grasp. “Better I get punished for snooping than you ignoring your own country’s problems! How do you ever expect to become queen if you always turn a blind eye?”   
      That was where Helene lost it. Jerking her hand away, she forcefully released Eilonwy’s wrist and sent her tumbling to the ground. “I’ve had just about enough of you, Eilonwy! I’ve tried to be patient and positive but you’re defiance is no longer tolerable! We should’ve heeded those warnings about you and aborted you when we still had the chance” she sneered. Helene glared at her sister for a moment more before huffing and turning on her heels to depart.   
      Eilonwy propped herself up on her forearms and watched her stomp away, but not without the last word. “Yeah, well I wish you had, too! Then I never would’ve had to deal with such abuse from you lot!” Her voice cracked and tears rose to her cheeks but she refused to cry. Crying was for the weak. With a grunt, she forced herself up from the marble floor, brushed the hair out of her face, and approached the nearby mirror to search for any injuries. She winced as she grazed her cheek, the massive yellow bruise tender to the touch. As far as she was concerned, it was just another wound to add to her collection.   
      Skidding to a halt by the stables, the youngest princess hopped from her mare’s back and shook her wild hair out of it’s braid. Her horse whinnied and nuzzled her rider’s cheek affectionately. Eilonwy cringed, her bruise still tender, but a faint smile found it’s way to her lips. _At least someone here still cares for me_ , she thought to herself as she handed the horse an apple. Not even Helene’s harsh words could deter her from indulging in such a fine afternoon. However, her attention was compromised at the sound of a horn blaring from the balcony of the throne room. Her stomach churned as she pondered the reason, hoping it was simply to announce the arrival of the Galman nobles. Biting her lip, she led her horse to her stall and rushed towards the source of the sound.   
      The halls were long and the staircases steep as she ran, her mind and heart racing as fast as she did. Upon reaching the throne room, she found her mother and sisters in a regal crowd about the king. All eyes fell on Eilonwy as she tumbled into the group, her kirtle stained and hem ripping. Smoothing her hair back out of her face, she panted to catch her breath a moment before asking, “Well, what is it? What are you going on about?”   
      The monarchs remained solemn and stony-faced, Queen Primrose placing a gentle hand upon her husband’s shoulder. With a hearty sigh, the king explained, “Narnia may very well be in danger. Marshwiggles have sent word of an army approaching from the north. They’ve so far pillaged Allies Enclave, killed countless Animals, and endangered the Tree of Protection. Rumor has taken flight that they plan to attack Cair Paravel next. I ask you all not to worry, though. This is nothing that cannot be handled. But for your safety, I have planned for a ship to send you all to Redhaven until this crisis is put to rest.” There was a grave concern in the man’s noble blue eyes that tugged at Eilonwy’s heart, his words filling with equal parts sadness and determination. “I shall bring thirty of my best men to face the opposing forces before they can terrorize my country. We will leave at dawn.”   
      Queen Primrose bowed her head as a royal messenger nearby nodded and rushed to deliver the king’s decree. Helene folded her hands in front of her and held her chin high, though her eyes were filled with fear. Amalthea tightened her grip on the book clutched to her chest, her eyes locked on the marble floors in prayer for her father’s safety. The words _The Explanatons of the World According to Aslan_ were scrawled down the spine in swooping, gold letters. Beside her stood Elara and Andrastea, hands interlocked in quivering confidence. Their fear lessened at the sight of Sir Rolf entering the room.   
      The knight bowed briefly before turning to the king to speak. “Mars has sent word of your decree across the land, your majesty. I will take it in my best interest to instruct them per your request upon their arrival. What are your orders?”  
      The king gave a simple nod before stepping aside with the knight for some privacy. The majority of the women watched for only a moment before turning to whisper among themselves. Eilonwy, however, eyed her father and Rolf with envy and curiosity. She slyly snuck closer to better hear their conversation but was caught redhanded by her mother.   
      “Talk of war is not for women’s ears, Ellie” she stated sternly, a firm hand guiding the princess by her shoulders. Her sisters snickered and sneered at their baby sister’s pout but their jeering was of minimal concern. Eilonwy desperately wanted to be included in her father’s endeavors. After all, they had spent countless afternoons sparring and shooting together. A battlefield, she expected, would be no different. If anything, it was better. In war, she would have real opponents rather than straw men who stood idly and waited to be impaled. It would be a refreshing challenge and she was more than prepared to face it.   
      The moment King Lorr and Sir Rolf had finished their meeting, they approached the women once more with hard gazes. The queen nor her eldest daughters asked of what was to happen beyond their evacuation. Eilonwy, however, broke the silence.  
      “I’m certain you could use all the help you can find, Papa! After all, wars are rather unpredictable and you wouldn’t want to find you’ve underestimated your numbers. Might I come along just to make sure? I’m certain I’ll make a fine soldier and I promise to do exactly as you ask of me! You’ve trained me so well, I’m sure I would do wonderfully!” she gushed, grasping her father’s arm and staring up at him with wide, yearning eyes. In most other instances, King Lorr would melt at the mercy of his youngest’s wishes but this was not the time to grow soft. His gaze remained serious as he wiggled his arm free of Eilonwy’s grasp and shook his head.  
      “I’m afraid not, my dear one. Girls have no place on battlefields. You stay here with your mother and sisters like a good girl” he replied, his voice deep and jarring. Eilonwy bit her lip and recoiled, staring up at her idol with newfound disappointment.   
      “After all this time training me and you won’t let me fight?” she asked incredulously. The king sighed, his stress evident. Queen Primrose tiptoed up behind her daughter, gently grasping her shoulders in an attempt to veer her away but Eilonwy shoved her mother away and gazed up at her father in confusion and despair.   
      “You promised to do exactly as I ask of you. I’m asking you stay here” the king said solemnly.  
      “I-I can’t believe you! I’m strong enough, I know I am! You’ve taught me well, I don’t see why I can’t join you!” she argued.  
      “Eilonwy, I command you to stay here! I am the king and you will obey me, dammit!” Lorr shouted, finally losing his temper. With wide eyes, Eilonwy recoiled and shook her head in disbelief. The queen and elder princesses stared in shock. After a few moments, Sir Rolf chuckled and patted the girl on the head much harder than he intended.   
      “The youngest is a mighty feisty one, isn’t she, your highness?” he jested before gazing down at the princess with mocking eyes. “You ought to guard the castle while the men are away. I’m certain no mouse would dare pick a fight with you!” A low growl rose from deep within Eilonwy’s throat at his belittling. These men she once respected now treated her as if was incapable and diminutive, nonetheless her preceptor. With a frustrated grunt, she released all her inhibitions and punched Sir Rolf hard in the arm before storming away to her bedroom.   
      Once she isolated herself, she felt fully free to channel her anger however she wished. Whipping her sword Beowulf from it’s sheath, she swung the blade around to violently hack at her bedpost. She released a soft grunt with each impact yet it wasn’t until she had collapsed back onto her bed that she realized tears were streaming down her face. Frustrated, she kicked at her sheets until they lay in a pile upon the floor and rolled over to bury her face in the mattress. As she did so, there was a soft knock at the door.   
      Without saying a word, the door creaked open and her father slowly entered. “Oh, Ellie, my wee one. This would be a terrible way to say goodbye” he cooed. Eilonwy slowly rolled over to face him as he came nearer and sat at the foot of her bed.   
      “Get out! I’m still angry with you!” she shouted hoarsely but her father ceased to obey. He simply sighed and shook his head.  
      “I know, Ellie, but you must listen to me. I am only looking out for your best interest. Out there is not like your daily practices in the courtyard. You would not be faced with straw men who stand still. The beasts who have pillaged Narnia show no mercy and would surely kill you if given the chance. I refuse to give them that chance. You are destined for so much more than such a fate, my dear one” he explained, wiping away the tears from her bruised cheek. She averted her eyes. Both her father’s and Sir Rolf’s belittling had sliced a massive hole in her trust. How could she forgive something so cruel so easily?  
      Drawing in a sharp breath, she turned her cheek away from his palm and rested her chin upon her knees. “I have difficulty believing that when it seems as though I’m not destined for anything. I don’t belong on the battlefield and I defintely don’t belong in a castle. I’m not fit to be a princess nor a warrior” she confided. The king sighed.  
      “Perhaps because you are destined for neither” he suggested. His words made no sense and Eilonwy shook her head and rose from her mattress.   
      “Regardless, that doesn’t change the fact that I’m angry with you. I’m not sure I can ever forgive you for this!” she rebuked. Her father sighed and bowed his head in disdain. “Get out. Please. I don’t want to talk any longer.”   
      While King Lorr wanted nothing more than to win back his daughter’s companionship, he knew there was no way he could force her to do anything. She always was stubborn. Hoisting himself up from the bed, he watched her cross her arms and lock her eyes on the floor as he approached the door. Before leaving, however, he softly said, “My troops and I will depart by sunrise. I doubt you’ll be awake by then, so I’ll wish you a goodnight and a goodbye now. Please behave for your mother and sisters.” With that, he quietly shut the door. He was gone by the time Eilonwy woke up.   
      Over the course of the following days, Eilonwy was overwhelmed with guilt. Her opinion of her father’s words still held true yet she began to regret their sour goodbye. The bitter aftertaste made his absence all the more disheartening. She soon found herself staring out the window awaiting his return so she could rush forward and apologize. Unfortunately, unbeknownst to her, she would never see him again.   
      Sunlight filtered through the spotless windows of the parlor as the royals sat in waiting. Their ship to Redhaven was scheduled to arrive any moment, anxiety charging the air. Queen Primrose was halfway through her needlework when Elara’s head snapped up from her own activities with concerned eyes. “Do you hear that…?” she asked softly. Her mother and sisters gazed at her in bewilderment. “That noise, do you hear it? It’s almost like a…clanging.”  
      The women strained their ears for the faint sound. It took a few moments but soon each of them detected the unpleasant noise. Then, suddenly, a scream. The queen’s eyes widened in concern as she jolted up from her seat and rushed to the door. The clanging increased in volume. Andrastea clutched her twin’s hand. Amalthea dropped to her knees in prayer. Helene straightened her back, eyes locked on their mother as she awaited her response. Squeezing her eyes shut tight, Queen Primrose delicately pressed her ear against the door, hoping to make sense of the commotion. Screams echoed down the hallway and the ruckus grew louder and louder until…silence.   
      “Maybe it’s gone…” Andrastea whispered fearfully. Eilonwy drew her knees to her chest, her heart pounding. The six of them collectively held their breath. The silence dragged on, leaving the queen to deduce that perhaps there was just a mouse in the kitchen or something else equally disruptive. With a sigh of relief, she dropped her shoulders and bid a reassuring smile to her daughters. The tension lifted. They returned to their activities.   
      Everything happened quickly and yet in slow motion. The great double doors to the parlor swung open, slamming against the walls, as a frigid wind blew across the room. With all the confidence of a goddess, a mesmerizing figure strutted inside. Like an icicle, she was pale and piercing with a strange knife at her side. A sickening grin spread across her pale, cracked lips as she cooed, “My, what an adorable congregation!” Queen Primrose, taken aback by the entry, had stumbled to the ground beside the doorway gasping for breath. The woman leaned over to lift the queen by the neck for inspection. “You must be the little queen your dear husband was muttering about” she remarked. “Certainly he must have been an honest king as your beauty is obvious. And I see he wasn’t lying about your dear, sweet daughters, either!” she gushed, turning her attention to the princesses. The five of them froze in their seats at the sight of such an otherworldly woman.  
      Queen Primrose’s face turned a sickening shade of purple as she gasped for air in the woman’s grasp. Admiring her suffocation, the witch lifted her opposite hand up to caress the queen’s cheek. As she did so, a band of hideous beasts flooded through the doorway from behind. “How nice of you to finally join me, boys” the witch spat. A black dwarf leading the group bowed with a devilish grin.  
      “What are your orders, Queen Jadis?” he asked, his voice scratchy and deep.  
      A smile spread across Jadis’s lips, eyes locked on Primrose in her grasp. “Bind the others” she commanded. “I doubt they’ll remain so calm after what they’re about to witness.” Queen Primrose’s eyes widened but she barely had time to react. The moment Jadis finished her sentence, her hand skated down to the woman’s abdomen and stabbed the blade into her chest. A sickening grin spread across the witch’s face as her eyes turned jet black, a whispered, “Long live the queen” spilling from her lips as she released her grop. Primrose collapsed onto the floor, blood spilling from the wound. Helene cried out, eyes brimming with tears, as she jumped from her seat and ran towards her beloved mother. Before she could reach her, a cyclops grabbed her from behind and immobilized her. Minotaurs and dwarves did the same to the others.  
      In the commotion, Eilonwy’s fight or flight instinct took over and soon she found her body moving independently from her mind. In one swift motion, she dove away from the window and crawled across the floor to curl up beneath her father’s broad writing desk. For the first time in her life, she appreciated her small stature. A lump rose in her throat, her heart beating against her chest so violently she was certain she was going to have a heart attack. Her crooked teeth bit down on her lip as she silently watched the grotesque scene unfold.  
      The beasts tied the elder princesses with ropes and gagged their mouths, tossing them onto the floor against the table. Blood pooled beneath Queen Primrose’s now lifeless body, her face still a sickening shade of violet. Tears streamed down the girl’s faces as Jadis approached them, toying with the knife in her hands. She eyed each princess one by one as she grew closer. Helene’s composure faltered at the hands of death, her eyes locked on the witch as her entire body quaked with fear. Amalthea remained solemn and collected, eyes shut tight, and Eilonwy was certain she was silently praying to Aslan per usual. The twins’ trembling hands remained interlocked.   
      With a satisfied grin, Jadis knelt down beside Elara and stalled a moment to caress a lock of the girl’s soft, platinum hair. “Mmm, what a beautiful young girl” Jadis murmured before she swiftly lifted her knife and stabbed the princess straight in the chest. Elara yelped as the blood poured down her dress and her hand flew to the wound. Andrastea fought back a sob as she gripped her sister’s opposite hand even tighter. Noticing their intertwined fingers, Jadis cooed and targeted the other twin next. Gripping the back of the girl’s head, the witch gazed upon her admirably before slicing the princess’s neck. Andrastea’s head fell backwards and bobbed at a disgustingly inhumane angle.   
      Not wanting to waste any more time, Jadis finished off the remaining two sisters with ample ease and precision until all that was left of them was their spouting corpses. Standing, she admired her handiwork before turning to face her army. “Such a shame. They truly were such beautiful little brats” she said before leading the group into the hallway. “We’ll return by nightfall for the bodies” she instructed with a wave of her hand. The doors slammed shut behind them.   
      From beneath the large oak desk, Eilonwy’s body quaked in terror at what she had just witnessed. In mere moments, her entire family had been viciously murdered before her very eyes. Her stomach churned and she was certain she was going to vomit right then and there but fought to restrain herself. Once she was certain the band of murderers was gone, she crawled out from beneath the desk to view the damage. Her sisters and mother lay in lifeless heaps on the marble floor. There was blood on the carpet and blood on their dresses and blood on their skin and there was so much blood Eilonwy nearly fainted at the sight of it all. It pooled around her feet and stained the ratty hem of her dress. Once vibrant eyes were now glossy and vacant. The previously angelic pallor of their skin was now disturbing and cold. A sob caught in Eilonwy’s throat as her knees gave out and she collapsed into the puddles of blood with a monstrous cry. She didn’t want to stare at them any longer yet could hardly avert her eyes. Burning acid rose in her throat and she scrambled towards a decorative pot beside a nearby table to finally throw up, cringing at the echo of her violent retching.   
      Once every single content of her stomach was sloshing in front of her, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and sobbed as she bid one last glance at her family. Staring at them was maddening and she knew there was too much at stake. Forcing herself up from the ground, she hesitantly recoiled towards the exit, drinking in one last view of the horrific scene. Her eyes glanced to the clock reading nearly five in the afternoon. Drawing in a sharp breath, she turned her back to her family and barrelled down the hallway.  
      Steadfast feet raced through the corridors as her mind whirled with calculations. As far as she knew, her father and his troops were still in the Western Woods battling what was left of Jadis’s army. If she could simply get there in time, she could warn her father of what had happened and they could defeat this villainous entity once and for all. Reaching the end of the hallway, she glanced around frantically before snatching her bow and quiver from her chambers.  
      From the foyer below, Jadis lifted a finger to pause her troops. “Do you hear that…?” she murmured suspiciously. The clanging and banging from the princess’s bedroom rang from above. “Someone has seemingly escaped my wrath.”   
     Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, Eilonwy slowly backed out of her bedroom, tears welling in her eyes at the thought of leaving. There was no way of knowing when she’d ever return. Straightening her back, she swallowed her sobs and turned to rush down the hallway.  
      Gathering up her skirts, Jadis darted up the stairs, skipping two, three, even four steps at a time. She was determined to punish whoever so cleverly slipped through her fingers. Her knuckles turned even whiter clutching her bloodied knife to her side.  
      As Eilonwy scurried down the hallway, her ears picked up the sound of footsteps growing nearer. She froze. Her heart leapt into her throat. Straining her ears, she tightened her grip on her bow and slowly turned to find the witch ascending the stairs. With a scream, the princess ran as fast as she could to the end of the hallway before swerving down another corridor. Her heart pounded in her ears, a steady soundtrack to her race. She barrelled down the next few flights of stairs until skidding to a halt at the stables. Her horse whinnied at the sight of her rider, Eilonwy leaping onto the mare’s back in one swift motion. The horse reared and kicked the pen’s door open, sprinting through the courtyard and out into the merciless wilderness.   
      Jadis peered over the throne room’s balcony, slamming her fists on the railing as she watched the princess take off. “That pestulent little brat!” she screamed. A growl rose from the witch’s throat as her army slid up behind her, catching a glimpse of the fortunate girl. Jadis then sucked in a deep breath to compose herself, narrowing her eyes as she turned back towards the woods.  
      “What should we do, your highness?” one of the giants asked in a deep, bumbling voice.   
      The witch paused only a moment before running her fingers along the cool marble of the railing. “Follow her.”   
      “Do you want us to kill her?” a cyclops asked.  
      Jadis opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead, a devilish grin spread across her lips as she turned towards her minions. “"No. Bring her to me breathing. If it’s her life she wishes to preserve, then that is exactly what she shall get.”  
      Engulfed in panic, Eilonwy surged forward, the wind stinging her teary eyes as sweaty palms gripped her horse’s mane. The only sounds consuming her were that of pounding hooves and her own heartbeat. At the mercy of the forest, it was hard to discern which way was up and which was down. Her mind was trapped in an unconscious haze which she was stirred from only when she reached a small cliff in the wood. The mare skidded, frightened by the shallow drop, and Eilonwy was flung from the horse’s back and launched into the dirt with a great thud.  
      A cry escaped the girl’s lips as she connected with the ground, dirt caked to her bruised cheek. She felt caged by the branches looming overhead and her entire body convulsed with fear. Despite her trembling, for the first time that afternoon, she felt dreadfully still. Covering her face in her hands, she released a hoarse wail as she let the trauma of the evening consume her. Her sisters’ vacant expressions, their glossy eyes and bloodied gowns, haunted her each time she closed her eyes.   
      Time crept slowly as the weight of her anxiety overwhelmed her but as she lay in tears on the forest floor, her sobs caught the attention of a nearby group of creatures. They came slowly, creeping from the brush with great care as they sniffed at the air and blinked at the pitiful sight. A mouse scurried carefully closer, wringing his hands upon standing upright and wiggling his nose in inspection. Once he identified the hysterical girl, he gasped and bowed his head.  
      Blurry-eyed, Eilonwy slowly lifted her eyes to view the mouse, then the other creatures. Badgers, beavers, bears, and boars all stood at the meadow’s edge glancing at her repeatedly as if they were too afraid to stare. “What are you all looking at?” Eilonwy spat hoarsely. She propped herself up on her elbow and wiped her nose on her sleeve.“  
      "Well, we-we-uh-we come in peace, your m-m-majesty!” the mouse stammered, bowing once more. A sob broke free from Eilonwy’s lips once again as she sat up and drew her knees to her chest. For a long moment, she sat in silence, unsure of what to say or think, until a solemn centaur sauntered forward.   
      “There is a great evil in the land. The tree of protection has been destroyed, as have many innocent lives and homes” he announced. Eilonwy scoffed at his words. As if she hadn’t already knew all of that. However, what he said next ravaged her further. “Your father and his army made brave attempts to defeat the forces but were unsuccessful. They perished in battle, your majesty.”   
      Eilonwy’s head snapped up to meet the centaur’s gaze, her eyes narrowed and brimming with angst. “No, y-you’re lying. My father is the strongest fighter in Narnia. There’s…there’s no way he could’ve…” she argued but she trailed off when she spied a second centaur step forward. In her hands was King Lorr’s sword, still bloody from battle. With wide eyes, Eilonwy inched forward to run her hand along the blade. She stared at the substance on her fingertips, then her eyes darted to the creatures watching her. From within the audience, a small faun peeked out from behind a comforting she-bear, grasping her paw as he yearned for a better view. Though he was young, he wasn’t stupid and his heart broke for the princess before him. His brave father had joined the king’s army just days before and therefore perished, as well. Understanding her pain, the faun wanted to approach and comfort the girl but was much too afraid.   
      Sucking in a deep breath, Eilonwy’s despair began transforming into rage. Knocking the sword out of the centaur’s hands, she clenched her fists and hunched into a defensive stance like a sneering hag. “You’re all lying! My father is not dead!” she shouted desperately. She refused to believe the truths presented to her. Nostrils flaring, her eyes brimmed with tears before falling upon the dripping hem of her dress, the blood staining it’s fabric an unforgiving black. She could feel the fluid against her skin, dripping onto her boots, and logging her dress. It’s presence constricted her, a grave reminder of her family’s death, and a sour, burning desperation bubbled up from deep within her. Breaking into another fit of sobs, she crouched down and began feverishly tearing at the thick fabric. When her bare hands proved unsatisfactory, she snatched her father’s sword and began slicing at the bloodied fragments until her hem reached just past her knee. The surrounding creatures watched in horror at her violent act, clapping their hands over their mouths and muttering amongst themselves. Once every stained scrap lay lifeless in the dirt, Eilonwy swung the sword around to hack at the surrounding trees before collapsing back into the dirt. By the time she fell to the ground, the terrified creatures had retreated deep into the forest.   
      Days passed and Eilonwy wandered the wilderness scared and alone. The trees seemed much higher than she expected, their tangled branches scruffy with autumn leaves. She compacted herself as she traversed the forest, unprotected and unsafe. It seemed as though the moment she was plunged into the outside world, all the hunting expertise she had gloated about for years had disappeared. There were no stationary soldiers to shoot at, no straw men to obliterate into piles of hay. Every bird and beast she shot at disappeared the moment her arrow whizzed past. Her stomach ached and growled, hungry for something more substantial than berries of questionable toxicity. Her skin had grown pale and papery and her entire body shivered as the temperature continued to drop. She yearned for her warm bed, her luxurious food, and the warm embrace of her family at Cair Paravel but knew it was an impossible dream. In one sweeping motion, the foundation of her entire life had been stolen out from under her and irrevocably smashed into a million pieces.   
      As she trudged down dirt pathways, a rustling in the bushes suddenly caught her attention. She froze, tightening her grip on the hilt of her father’s sword, as she listened for another instance of sound. Again, another rustle, this time louder. Her heart leapt into her throat as she drew in a shaky breath. “Sh-show yourself!” she demanded.   
      From out of the brush hobbled a hunched figure cloaked in black. It’s scraggly hand clutched the cape shut, the hood hiding it’s face. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, dearie!” the stranger spoke in a hoarse, unsteady caw of a voice. Eilonwy eyed the being suspiciously, a sense of panic welling up inside of her, as she drew her sword and extended it toward the stranger.  
      “Who are you?” she demanded.  
      “Oh, just a weary traveler!” the figure replied. It crept nearer before pausing, raising it’s head for a better view but lifting an arm to hide the lower half of it’s face. It’s eyes were black as night and taunting, surrounded by bare, wrinkled flesh. It’s eyebrows furrowed a moment, then rose as if in surprise. “You must be the little princess from Cair Paravel, eh? The youngest of the daughters? Ah?” it inquired knowingly. Eilonwy recoiled a few paces, discomforted, and nodded slowly. The moment she verified her identity, the creature exploded into a celebratory fit. It surged forward to grip Eilonwy’s arms, her sword tumbling to the ground, the creature revealing it’s full face as a haunting grin spread across it’s bird-like features. “You poor, poor little princess! You must be so scared and alone out in the woods! Are you alone?” the hag gushed, caressing the girl’s cheek and twirling a lock of her dark hair. Again, Eilonwy slowly nodded. A sly smile crossed the hag’s beaked lips before her attention was quickly diverted to the girl’s figure. After having been denied a catch her entire time in the woods, she was starving and her body certainly reflected it. She was sure she had lost at least five or ten pounds from her already thin frame just in those few days from barely eating anything. The hag eyed her up and down, inspecting the girl’s emaciated frame, before continuing. “My, what a figure you have! You must be starved! Haven’t you eaten anything, princess?”   
      Eilonwy was suddenly very aware of how much of her skin was exposed. Her tattered hem just barely covered her knobby knees and her arms were thin like the tree’s branches. Even her face seemed sunken and deflated, dark circles resting beneath her wide, innocent eyes. Licking her lips, she shook her head slowly before replying, “N-no…ma'am, I haven’t…”   
      The hag seemed pleased at the princess’s hunger and lifted a finger to her yellowed beak of a nose. “Well, we can’t let such a sweet little _princess_ go hungry, now, can we? I think I know just what ought to do the trick, eh?” she enthused. Peering into her cloak, she rummaged around until drawing out the most beautiful, shimmering silver apple Eilonwy had ever seen. Instantly, she was magnetized toward it’s sweet smell and appealing flesh. In her mind, however, she knew at once what it was. As she inched closer, the hag explained, “Now, don’t go scarfing the entire thing at once, dear, for it’s a very special apple! This apple is the last surviving fruit of that precious tree of protection. Do you know the story? Of how at Narnia’s creation, that tree was planted from the core of a magic apple hailing from the Garden of Youth? Planted right over there by Aslan himself, or at least that’s what legend tells you! You know why else these apples are so special, princess? I’ll tell you why: these are wishing apples. One bite and you’ll be granted your greatest desire!”   
      The words _greatest desire_ caught Eilonwy’s attention and her mind suddenly whirled with dreadful, forbidden thoughts. Thoughts of her father and mother, her sisters, and the life that had been so viciously stolen from her. She knew of the fruit’s danger from the legends her father told her at bedtime, yet perhaps one bite wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps one bite was enough to fulfill such a difficult and impossible wish.   
      The smell was irresistible and Eilonwy inched a few paces closer. The silvery skin shimmered in the sunlight and enticed her. “O-one bite…?” she asked sheepishly, glancing at the hag. The horrible beast nodded eagerly as she extended the apple toward the princess.  
      “Just one bite…!”  
      _Just one bite._ Eilonwy swallowed nervously, staring hard at the treat as something began building from deep inside her. Her heart pounded in her ears, a cacophony of voices flooded her brain, and her hands trembled at such a close proximity to the fabled fruit. She drew in a sharp breath, her teeth digging into her lip until, in one swift motion, she snatched the apple from the hag’s knuckly hand and dug her teeth into it’s flesh.  
      The skin felt cold and stung her teeth, as if she was biting into a block of ice, yet was buttery soft and smooth. Beneath the thin veil of silver was the sweetest, most delicious fruit she had ever tasted. It’s dark flesh stained her lips red, the juice dribbling down her chin. Her cheeks tingled at the sugary taste, like bright colored candy, and a soft moan of satisfaction passed her lips as she closed her eyes and inhaled the scent. As she swallowed, she nearly dove for another bite yet was greeted by the gradual onslaught of a horrible aftertaste. What once was pure and refreshing and sweet slowly became sharp and bitter and stung her throat like whiskey. Taken aback, Eilonwy clapped a hand over her mouth and was seized by a series of strong, raspy coughs as her eyes began to water.   
      A grin of pure satisfaction spread across the hag’s face as she watched Eilonwy suffer. The beast’s body began convulsing as she drowned in a flood of deep, hearty laughs. Loosening her grip on the wretched fruit, Eilonwy’s legs weakened and she fell to her knees, the apple tumbling from her hand to roll into the dirt. She could almost see the noxious fumes rising from it’s magenta flesh. Her face reddened as she continued her coughing fit, her entire body seized by a strange and unnerving sensation. Her muscles tensed and her skin drained of any semblance of color. She wheezed as blood dripped from her lips and she glared up at the hag in desperation. The creature just knelt before the afflicted princess and tilted her chin up sharply.  
      “Compliments of her imperial majesty, Queen Jadis” the hag cooed before turning to gaze up at the figure approaching. From the woods came the witch herself, her thin lips turned up into a sickening smile.   
      “My, what a fascinating turn of events. You certainly added quite a bit of interest to my plan!” Jadis jested, looming over the princess. Eilonwy glared up at her weakly, wiping the blood from her lips as it dripped. At her side, the witch held a new weapon: a crystalline wand with a beautifully ornate handle. Simply looking at it made Eilonwy shudder. Noticing her interest, Jadis glanced to the wand and said, “Like it? I crafted it myself using the oil of that serpent who was terrorizing the Galman coast. My brilliant little minions were able to pirate a ship heading to the island and bring the substance back for me. Quite a beautiful weapon, don’t you agree? One stab and it can turn anyone and anything to stone. I’ve yet to test it, but perhaps you ought to be my first victim.” All Eilonwy could muster in response was a weak grunt as the witch twirled the weapon affectionately. The girl’s eyes widened as she watched it spin and then lunge towards her, pausing mere inches from her face. Jadis let out a piercing laugh as she watched Eilonwy’s terrified reaction, adding, “However, since you seemed to determined to preserve whatever was left of your putrid little life, I couldn’t bear to possibly deny you that! Such a shame, though. In your attempts to save yourself, not once did you think to try saving your own family. Perhaps you’re much darker than I expected you to be.”   
      A whimper choked Eilonwy’s throat at the harsh realization. It was all her fault. Her father had trained her for so many years yet the one time her expertise was useful and she did nothing. Absolutely nothing. Her stomach churned. Her chest ached. She deserved to be punished. Frost began collecting on the ground beneath Jadis’s dress.  
      The witch straightened her back and glared down at the struggling princess as she prepared to depart. Eilonwy’s vision grew blurry and she squinted up at her rival in an effort to focus her vision. “I hope you enjoy your eternal damnation, little princess” Jadis taunted before turning and disappearing into the trees.   
      The woods were still, the creatures silent. For the first time, Eilonwy was truly and utterly alone. Leaves floated gently to the ground as a frigid cold began nipping at her skin. Delicate flakes began drifting through the air and blanketing the country in an onslaught of white. Curled up on the damp ground, Eilonwy sniffled and wiped the crusting blood from the corner of her mouth. Her eyes were bloodshot, her skin ghostly pale. As the world around her began to blur and fade, the reality of her circumstance knocked her breathless: she had officially, completely, and absolutely lost everything. All she was guaranteed now was the black haze that then consumed her. 

     Peter blinked and squinted as the familiar view of his tent blurred in from the blackness. It wasn’t until he realized he couldn’t quite regain his visual clarity, however, that he noticed his eyes were brimming with tears. Straightening his back, he willed them away. He drew his trembling hand away from the mystical stone and wrapped an arm around his abdomen, his stomach aching as if his intestines had twisted inside out. A cold, hard silence enveloped the pair as Peter stared dumbfounded into the distance, trying to make sense of everything he had just seen. Glancing over to Eilonwy, he was stricken by how composed she appeared. A stony, tense expression painted her face but her hands lay unsteady in her lap.  
     “Now you know” she whispered, voice cracked and hoarse, eyes averted. Her restrained demeanor was nothing like the terrified girl he had seen in those visions. She seemed much older, though she looked exactly the same. Perhaps it was just her presence, the result of years of solitude and experience. Regardless, his heart broke for her though she refused to let him pity her.   
     The two of them indulged in another tranquil silence for a few moments, gathering their thoughts and mulling over Eilonwy’s grotesque past. A lump rose in Peter’s throat that, despite his attempts, he couldn’t seem to swallow back. Behind his eyelids, all he could see was blood. Finally, after unending quiet, he whispered, “There must be something we could do.”   
     “Well, there isn’t” she snapped. “I’ve made my peace with it. I’ve had a hundred years to do so. It doesn’t bother me anymore. There’s no use feeling guilty about something that you’ve got nothing to do with, anyway.” She didn’t mean to sound quite so harsh but the words seemed to be present themselves independently from her mouth. Peter was slightly taken aback by her tone, sighing softly as he averted his eyes like he was back in school and had just been reprimanded by his teacher. A part of him wondered what it would’ve been like to meet her before she grew bitter, before her family had died and she was carefree and happy. He hoped one day she would be like that again, even if he wasn’t there to witness it.   
     After a few more moments had passed, Peter spoke again. “You lied to us, you know. That night in the woods with the fox, he called you a princess and you denied it” he pointed out.   
     “I never _denied_ it! I simply never confirmed it. There’s a difference. You ought to learn it” Eilonwy shot back. Shifting on the hammock, she huffed a strand of hair out of her face and crossed her arms. Peter could tell the subject was a sensitive one but he was too drunk with curiosity to restrain himself.   
     “Why not? It’s not like you really have a choice whether you are one or not. And if you’re the last living relative of the last king, wouldn’t that make you heir to the throne? The rightful queen?” Peter questioned. Eilonwy was quickly growing restless from his interrogations, the walls inching closer and her heart speeding in her chest. However, this time, she couldn’t bring herself to scream or storm out. She was paralyzed, uncontrollably vomiting up the past.   
     “Not anymore, it doesn’t. Usurpers aren’t exactly here for bargaining purposes and Jadis is no exception. Besides, I’ve never identified with the role of a princess, anyways. Princesses are supposed to be obedient, elegant, and beautiful, neither of which I do a very good job at” she explained. Peter felt his cheeks redden at the word _beautiful_ and a part of him felt compelled to object but he couldn’t find the strength. Even though she looked exactly as she always had, something about her seemed different now. He couldn’t explain it but all he really knew was that whatever sensation was gnawing at the pit of his stomach had intensified and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about it.   
     “Well, either way,” he started, “don’t you think you deserve a place in the castle? If not for your own sake, then for your family’s.” Eilonwy shifted uncomfortably. He certainly made a very thoughtful point. Thinking back to mere days ago, she never would’ve expected Narnia’s future monarchs to be so kind as to suggest something like that– or at least one of them, anyway. Despite feeling wary of the impending new royals, she never previously considered _her role_ in all of this. Now Peter was making her question her purpose. A shiver ran down her spine.   
     Unsure of what to say, Eilonwy sat in silence for a few moments before slowly shrugging and shaking her head. She didn’t want to think about Cair Paravel, of everything that happened there, but knew deep down that eventually she would be forced to make a decision. As yet another silence enveloped them, Eilonwy’s eyes shifted to the sword leaning against the side table and a soft, sad smile touched her lips. “Did you decide on a name yet?” she murmured.   
     Peter blinked and furrowed his brows, her words stirring him from his thoughts. “Name what?”  
     “Your sword, stupid” she responded with a soft chuckle, turning to face him.  
      “Oh.” He contemplated a moment before shaking his head. “What kind of name am I supposed to give it? I haven’t exactly done something like this before.”   
     “Something brave and noble. Something you wouldn’t mind charging into battle with” she said. “Something like Excelsior or Hyperion or Rhindon.”   
      “Rhindon” Peter mumbled. “Rhindon. I like that one. Rhindon.” He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but for some reason the name sparked something within him. It reminded him of himself, in a way: protective, strong-willed, and generous. Perhaps it was the sword itself calling out to the young knight in silent approval.   
     “Well, then Rhindon it is, I suppose” Eilonwy spoke. A small smile flashed on her lips as her and Peter locked eyes. After a few seconds, she found herself unable to break the gaze. Even in the lamplight, his eyes were still piercing but appeared darker, like galaxies. An electricity coursed through her veins and charged her blood yet perhaps for the first time, she didn’t feel quite so afraid as she did…invigorated. His composed face transformed into an almost drunken expression and it wasn’t until she could feel his warm breath on her skin that she realized how much closer they had inched towards one another. Her heart leapt into her throat as she watched his brows furrow and his eyes shift as if in confusion. A shaky hand hesitantly glided up to carefully place a strand of hair back behind her ear and even in the dim lighting, each could see the other’s cheeks burn bright red. Her lips instinctively parted as every muscle in her body relaxed and she felt herself slowly surrender. His hand remained on her cheek as he drew her face closer, his eyes fluttering shut, before–  
     “It’s, uh, it’s getting late” Eilonwy said, abruptly breaking away before their lips could meet. Her shaky hands folded in her lap in an attempt to keep them steady. Disappointment painted Peter’s face as he drew back and averted his eyes, suddenly unsure of what he was doing. “You ought to get some sleep. You’ll have to be in training by morning.”   
      Peter nodded absentmindedly, shrouded in defeat, as Eilonwy rose, cradled the box in her hands, and headed for the door. He wanted to say something but his tongue twisted and his words tangled in his throat. All he could manage was a strangled “Goodnight.”   
     Traversing the residential camp towards her own tent, Eilonwy cussed under her breath and kicked at the dirt in frustration. Her lips tingled frantically and she wiped them on her sleeve in an effort to quell their rage. In one fluid motion, she had not only slid into a metaphorical ditch of terror but had hit rock bottom. The more she pondered, the less she understood what was happening to her. This kid had thrown her for a loop and somehow she was at the mercy of his kindness like a puppet to it’s master. She didn’t want to be fond of him and yet here she was. Flopping onto her bed, she buried her face in her hands and sighed. Nothing made sense anymore. Even worse, in those quiet, lonely moments a realization was presenting itself from the blackness: she was becoming consumed by regret. A special regret, different from that which had plagued her all these years. No, this was a much hungrier regret. A regret for missed opportunities. A regret for not giving in. A regret for not kissing him.   
     In the silence of the night, Peter stared at the empty hammock across his tent and shuddered. He couldn’t focus. Edmund needed to be his main concern. Yet all he could think about was Eilonwy’s words, the visions she revealed to him, and the way they almost kissed. Somehow all her cynicism and wildness had twisted into something mysterious and confusingly alluring. He was filled with this inexplicable desperation to be near her, to be with her, to become entangled with her though not necessarily in a physical manner. For an English schoolboy such as himself, he had never felt such a strange and unsettling mix of strong emotion. It was both terrifying and intoxicating, much like he considered her.  
      Sleep never came easy for either of them that night and as the sun slowly rose over the hillside and painted the sky pastel, all the jagged thoughts coursing through Peter’s brain interconnected and punched him straight in the gut. Squeezing his eyes shut tight, he groaned and tugged his blanket up beneath his chin, curling up and cursing at himself under his breath.


	11. Chapter Ten

      In the early morning light stood the silhouette of two figures upon a nearby cliff. Rubbing his eyes awake, Peter nearly thought he was dreaming as he spied the pair upon exiting his tent. Their identities were unmistakable: one a hulking lion, the other a battered boy. _Edmund_.

     His heart leapt into his throat at the sight, squinting as if the vision was perhaps a mirage that would disappear the moment he blinked. Grass crunching beneath delicate feet nearby stirred his attention and he turned to see Susan and Lucy depart from their tents, bright-eyed and fresh-faced from their slumber. He hoped they slept much better than he had. Susan’s smile quickly faded when she saw the strange expression on her brother’s face, however, and she knew in an instant something wasn’t quite right. Satisfying her suspicion, she granted her eyes a full view of the figures caught from the corner of her eye and was instantly drowned in a wave of relief.   
      “Edmund!” Lucy shouted with a grinning gasp, surging towards her long lost brother. Peter, however, knew Edmund was in the midst of a very grave scolding and extended his arm to halt his steadfast sister. She glanced up at Peter in confusion, her shouts drawing the attention of both the lion and the boy, but the eldest Pevensie simply shook his head in silent guidance.   
      Gazing back up at the boy upon the cliff, an array of emotion flurried inside Peter. He wanted to be angry, to charge forward and scream at his brother for being so selfish and disobedient. Edmund had caused his siblings so much strife and nearly gotten himself killed in the process. However, that was the other point of contention. Edmund was alive and standing a mere hundred feet away from him. Eilonwy’s request from the night before echoed in his brain: _Promise me you won’t be too hard on your brother. You may not realize just how huge an impact all of this has probably left on him. Betraying your family…it certainly leaves irrevocable scars_. As he gazed up at his brother beside the radiant beast, Peter could definitely sense something different within him. He seemed much less disagreeable than when they first arrived in Narnia, the repercussions of some unspoken trauma taking effect. Peter had no idea what his brother endured during his imprisonment but he knew for certain that it was nothing short of a nightmare.   
      Edmund stared sheepishly out towards his siblings before the lion stood with a nod, bidding the boy forward. The three watched as he strolled through the grass towards them, head down and hands in his pockets. Aslan sidled up beside him, his deep voice commanding, “What’s done is done. There is no need to speak to Edmund about what has passed.” And with that, the great lion departed to grant the siblings some privacy.   
     The quartet stood within the shadows of a bittersweet silence for a few unending minutes. Susan and Lucy marveled at their brother with bated breath, recounting the scars that had not previously graced his face and his uncharacteristically meek disposition. The silence became almost unbearable until Edmund finally spoke. “Hello…” he muttered softly, far too ashamed to look them in the eyes. There was so much he wanted to say yet he couldn’t find the strength to say it. His siblings would never know the horror and torture he endured in Jadis’s castle, his punishment for being selfish, yet he hoped perhaps they could at least muster an ounce of compassion.   
      Once more, Lucy proved that her capacity for forgiveness was astronomical. In one fluid motion, she dove towards her brother to embrace him in one massive hug. Edmund’s eyes widened a moment, a slight gasp escaping his lips, before he sighed in relief and wrapped his arms around his baby sister. Susan inched closer, placing a gentle hand upon his shoulder, before pulling him close into a hug of her own. “Are you alright?” she asked softly, gazing at him with nothing short of sisterly affection.  
      “I’m a little tired” Edmund admitted.  
      Peter had yet to budge, hands planted firmly at his sides. He stared harshly at his siblings, unable to force himself into their kind reunion. Regardless of whether Edmund was alright and alive, the eldest found it increasingly difficult to muster an adequate amount of forgiveness. “Get some sleep” he commanded, nodding back to the tent he and his brother would now share. Edmund squinted up at him, half angered by his brother’s stony disposition and half guilty for all the additional conflict he had caused. Hands once more in his pockets, he silently trudged through the tall grass towards his quarters. As he watched his brother pass, Peter’s eyes landed upon a massive yellow bruise on the boy’s left cheek and the vision of a young Eilonwy flickered in his mind, the girl staring at her reflection to inspect the damage her sister had inflicted. Pain stabbed the knight in his stomach and sent a flurry of remorse up through his throat. “And Edmund?” he asked abruptly, turning towards the boy. Edmund paused to face his brother. “Try not to wander off” Peter suggested. A small smile touched his lips.   
      Relieved, Edmund smirked over his shoulder before approaching his and Peter’s tent for a refreshing nap. Certainly the hammocks would be much nicer than the icy floor he had previously been subjected to sleep on. As he came nearer to the circle of residential tents, he was met with the unfamiliar face of the huntress who had become so acquainted with his siblings. Disheveled from a restless night, she eyed Edmund in confusion as she sauntered towards the others.   
      “What’s going on? I didn’t think there would be anything all that important to miss this early in the morning” she asked, tying her tangled hair back and glancing around the camp.   
      “Edmund’s back!” Lucy shouted ecstatically, a wild grin gracing her lips. A look of comprehension spread across Eilonwy’s face, suddenly recognizing the boy she had just passed as the one she saw stomping through the snow just nights earlier. Much like his siblings, she, too, saw something different in Edmund even if she had never really met him before.   
      “Well, congratulations. I’m sure the Narnians are certainly relieved to see all four of their future monarchs finally reunited” she replied, glancing to each of the siblings. When her eyes finally fell upon Peter, there was an obvious unease between the two of them. Eilonwy’s cheeks reddened and she quickly averted her eyes, brushing off the prospect he had any effect on her. Likewise, Peter’s heart leapt into his throat and he sputtered into his fist to try and clear the blockage. Susan raised an eyebrow as she glanced between her brother and this disagreeable girl before Eilonwy smoothed her skirts absentmindedly and said quickly, “I’m starving! Is anyone else hungry? We should, uh, we should go get breakfast. While it’s still fresh, at least.” Clasping a hand to her stomach, Eilonwy sucked in a deep breath and, eyes averted, surged towards the main vein of camp. Susan wanted to protest, to iron out whatever was going on between the girl and her brother first, but her growling stomach said otherwise.  
      Upon reaching the valley’s plateau for breakfast, a reserved female centaur was organizing silverware and prodding at a fire for cooking. Susan and Lucy immediately rushed forward to help set the table while Eilonwy silently snatched away a silver pitcher and embarked towards the river to fetch some water. Peter glanced over at her as she did so, stealing away a piece of toast and eating it dry. As Susan took a seat at the table, she gazed up at her brother and furrowed her brows in displeasure.  
      “Peter, aren’t you going to sit?” she asked sternly. He just shook his head, pacing aimlessly with a concentrated gaze. Susan huffed, buttering her toast, before adding, “Come on, Peter, something’s the matter. You’ve been acting strange all morning. What’s going on?” Lucy glanced from her sister to her eldest brother and back, mouth filled with food, as she tried to make sense of what was happening. She, too, knew Peter had been acting strange but was too young to fully understand the scope of the circumstance.   
      “I’m fine, Su. Really. Don’t worry about it” Peter lied.   
      “You know, come to think of it, Eilonwy’s been different, too. Did something happen we ought to know about?” Susan inquired, glancing up at her brother once more. It was that question that caught Peter’s full attention, his back involuntarily straightening and his ears perking up.   
      “It’s just…something’s changed in her. I don’t know, she just…it’s strange” he stammered, then shook his head and grabbed another slice of toast. While Susan wasn’t exactly satisfied with the fragmented information Peter had given her, her attention was quickly diverted by a figure approaching from across the way.   
      “Edmund, I thought you were getting some sleep?” Susan asked in confusion. The younger brother shook his head, strolling towards them in Narnian attire and dropping down between his sisters at the table.   
      “I tried, but I’m too hungry” Edmund explained, snatching a piece of toast away and quickly scarfing it down. When Eilonwy returned, she silently poured everyone glasses of water before taking a seat herself and devoting her attention to her food. Unlike Edmund, however, she nibbled and picked apart her meal, staring absentmindedly out at the bustling camp before them.   
      Susan pursed her lips as she glanced from the huntress to her eldest brother before drawing her attention to a carnivorous Edmund. “Smaller bites, Ed!” she scolded with a soft chuckle. Of course Edmund loved food but the way he was devouring his meal now rivaled anything she had ever seen of him.   
      “Narnia’s not going to run out of toast, Ed” Lucy added, taking a bite of her own breakfast. Edmund simply smiled back at the both of them as he continued vacuuming up his meal. He never thought he would ever be so grateful for fresh food in his life but after being denied such a luxury, he vowed to never take it for granted again.   
      “I’m sure they’ll pack some up for the journey back” Peter finally spoke. He had disbanded himself from the group to lean against a nearby boulder, sipping his drink with a concentrated gaze. All eyes turned to him in confusion.   
      “We’re going home?” Susan asked, bewildered.   
      “You are” he replied, slowly approaching to finally take a seat. “I promised Mum I’d keep you three safe but that doesn’t mean I can’t stay behind and help.”   
      “Peter, that’s insane” Eilonwy interjected, but quickly silenced herself when the knight glanced her way.  
      “They need us! All four of us!” Lucy argued. Eilonwy glanced to the young girl and gave a small nod in agreement.   
      “Lucy, it’s too dangerous. You almost drowned, Edmund was almost killed!” Peter countered. While his determination to preserve his family’s safety was admirable, the situation at hand was not ideal to debate teamwork. Pursing her lips, the youngest sighed and dropped her shoulders.  
      “Which is why we have to stay…” Edmund interrupted. He had stopped gorging himself and rather kept his eyes locked on the ground, enveloped in a sullen aura. All eyes turned to him, confused and curious. “I’ve seen what the White Witch can do….and I’ve helped her do it. We can’t leave these people behind to suffer for it.”   
      A whimper caught in Eilonwy’s throat at this young boy’s words, a shiver racing down her spine. While Edmund’s siblings may never understand the terror he endured in that palace, Eilonwy knew all too well of Jadis’s power. However, she was selfish and betrayed her country by running from responsibility. Edmund knew better. She genuinely commended his devotion to redemption, his sincerity in proving himself worthy of liberation and forgiveness. Peter glanced from his brother to the huntress and back again, slowly beginning to understand the emotional scope of their circumstances. With a small smile, Lucy reached over and squeezed Edmund’s hand in comfort.   
      “Well, I suppose that’s it, then” Susan said decidedly, rising abruptly from her seat.  
      “Where are you going?” Peter asked, looking to her uneasy expression.   
      Strolling through the grass, she approached her tent nearby to retrieve her bow and arrow, a small smirk spreading across her lips. “To get in some practice.” Lucy’s eyes instantly lit up as she jolted from her seat and rushed to collect her dagger, loyally following her sister to the archery ranges. As Eilonwy and the boys watched them saunter off, something began churning inside the huntress’s stomach before licking her lips and standing to run after the pair.   
      “Now where are you going?” Peter asked, as if her departure was disheartening.  
      Turning on her heels, Eilonwy grabbed her own bow and arrow and walked backwards toward the range, calling after Peter, “Well, someone has to teach them! Better it be me than some bumbling idiot!” While her words were harsh, the faint semblance of a playful smile hinted at her lips before she turned back around and ran off after the girls.   
      A soft chuckle escaped Peter’s lips as he shook his head and turned back toward the empty seats. Edmund curiously watched the girl disappear for a moment more before directing his attention towards his brother. A look of confusion crossed his face, having missed his sibling’s journey and Eilonwy’s impact on it. “So who is that girl?” he questioned. Peter’s brows furrowed a moment before looking towards his brother, suddenly realizing Edmund’s misunderstanding due to his absence.  
      With a soft sigh, Peter just smiled and shook his head before standing and motioning for Edmund to follow him. “Come on, Ed. We need to practice, too.”   
      “You know, that doesn’t answer my question!” the boy called as he ran to catch up with his older brother.   
      Panting to catch her breath, Eilonwy skidded to a halt beside Susan and Lucy, her tangled hair falling out of it’s braid. The eldest girl gazed at the huntress in confusion, perplexed as to what she wanted with them, but Lucy was open and curious. “You didn’t think you could just charge into battle without a mild manner of instruction, did you?” Eilonwy asked with a small smirk. Susan glanced around the camp a moment, trying to formulate an answer, but had trouble disagreeing with the girl’s suggestion. It was true, Susan had no training and therefore was completely oblivious to the technicalities of archery. Rolling her eyes playfully, Eilonwy set an arrow to her bow in one fluid motion and began her teachings.   
      Meanwhile, Peter and Edmund wandered the camp in search of the perfect spot to begin their sparring. Upon reaching a nearby clearing, they drew their swords and began wildly swinging at one another, nearly missing each other’s arms and necks in a barbarically untrained fashion. Noticing their poor technique, Oreius galloped in to interrupt the boy’s practice, his authoritative demeanor at first startling Edmund. Arms crossed about his chest, the centaur shook his head and guided the boys toward the stables.  
      In the makeshift stalls stood a handful of beautiful horses and one brilliantly white unicorn. Peter was instantly smitten by the mythical creature, his eyes widening as he slowly approached. The unicorn whinnied and stomped his foot, shaking his head as Peter cooed and slowly extended a hand to pet his muzzle.   
      “This is Besnik. Aslan assigned him specifically to you, Sir Peter. He will be a valuable ally to ride upon into battle” Oreius explained. A small smile touched Peter’s lips as he admired the creature, climbing up onto his back to get a feel for the thing. He had never ridden bareback before and so was unaccustomed to the wild nature of it but once he grew comfortable, he took hold of Besnik’s mane and raced after Edmund and his own horse.   
      Down at the archery range, Eilonwy stood with arms crossed about her chest as she critically eyed Susan’s form. “Draw all the way back to your cheek, keep both eyes open. Relax, focus…” she instructed. Sucking in a deep breath, Susan did as she was told and released, the arrow whizzing through the air to land slightly off target. The future queen pursed her lips in displeasure, Eilonwy fighting to restrain an airy laugh.   
      “Maybe that’s enough archery for today” Susan suggested, turning to face her sister and the huntress. Lucy’s face fell and Eilonwy’s eyes widened.  
      “What? No! You’re doing fine, you just need a bit more practice is all” Eilonwy countered, scooting to block Susan from departing. The girl raised an eyebrow at the other’s insistence before sighing and turning back to face the target.  
      “Why are you suddenly so eager to help us, anyway? I thought you said your involvement was strictly business” Susan asked, drawing another arrow to her cheek. Her question caught Eilonwy off guard and she stammered a moment while trying to verbalize an excuse.  
      “Well, that’s exactly why, I suppose. Consider this a form of…of apology. You know, for treating you all so horribly. I, uh, I really had no right to be so cruel. And after all, you four really need all the help you can get” Eilonwy finally explained. Surprised by the unexpected reason, a slight gasp escaped Susan’s lips and she prematurely released her arrow. It sliced through the air before stabbing the target, landing just above the bullseye. “That was better!” Eilonwy remarked with forced enthusiasm, a sheepish smile touching her lips. Susan furrowed her brows as she turned back to face the others, suspicious of Eilonwy’s sudden partnership. Detecting the girl’s hesitancy, Eilonwy laughed nervously before setting down her bow and slowly extending a hand. “Please. Consider this an official signal of my alliance and a formal apology for all the additonal strife I’ve caused. If it’s not too much to ask, perhaps we can, um…start over? And hopefully become great friends.”   
      Taken aback, Susan glanced from Eilonwy’s sheepish expression to her hand and back again, still skeptical of her ingenuity. Lucy, however, took to the girl immediately and rushed forward to pull her into a massive hug. Eilonwy gasped at the gesture, initially unsure of how to respond. She hadn’t been hugged in a hundred years. However, the young girl’s luminescent spirit and warmth of heart quickly comforted Eilonwy and she wrapped her arms around the child, a small smile of relief touching her lips.   
      Watching her baby sister embrace this brute girl filled Susan with a sense of necessity, as if Lucy’s compassion proved that perhaps Eilonwy was sincere in her promise. If nothing else, the huntress was at least a valuable asset to their training with her extensive expertise. Releasing the girl from her hug, Lucy glanced up at Susan expectantly to which the elder sister sighed and extended her hand with a small, uncertain smile. A grin flashed on Eilonwy’s lips as she took the girl’s hand with a firm grip, forging an agreement between the two. While Susan wasn’t entirely confident in her dealings, deep down she truly hoped trusting this young woman was not a massive mistake.   
      As the morning progressed, the girls slowly grew more comfortable with one another. Gaze strong in concentration, Susan drew her arrow back once more, replaying Eilonwy’s directions in her head. Releasing her grip, the arrow whirled through the air to yet again miss the bullseye. The girl squinted at the target, criticizing her own aim, before Lucy drew her dagger and launched it through the air. The blade whizzed past before jabbing right through the center of the canvas. With wide eyes, Susan glanced from the bullseye to her baby sister with an incredulous chuckle.   
      “See? Just focus on your target and you can’t miss!” Eilonwy hinted, a proud smile upon her lips, as she came up behind Lucy and gently squeezed her shoulder. Pleased with the huntress’s approval, the young girl grinned up at their preceptor before the sound of clanging metal captured the trio’s attention. From behind, two boys rode up the bank on horseback sparring.   
      “Come on, Ed! Sword point up, like Oreius showed us!” Peter shouted to his brother, circling Edmund upon the back of his unicorn. Soft smiles hinted at each girl’s lips as they paused their practice to watch, admiring the boys’ progression in terms of skill. Staring at the eldest Pevensie, Eilonwy could hardly believe he was the same person as the naive boy she had met in the woods. More and more he was beginning to transform into a true man of Narnia. As his blade connected with that of his brother’s, Peter looked to his sisters and friend and locked eyes with Eilonwy for but a moment. He shot her a goofy half-smile before returning his attention to battle, her cheeks blushing red as a dreamy expression involuntarily took hold of her face.   
      Catching a glimpse of Eilonwy’s mental absence, Lucy erupted into a fit of laughter upon turning to face her new friend. The uncharacteristic expression was worth noting, the young girl poking the woman’s arm before giggling, “Eilonwy, you’re blushing! You must have a crush on Peter!”  
      It wasn’t until Lucy said something that Eilonwy realized her preoccupation and quickly rubbed at her face to try and flush her cheeks of their color. “N-No, I don’t! It’s just…it’s the heat! It’s much warmer than I’m used to and it’s turning my cheeks red, that’s all” she lied. Susan and Lucy simply glanced to one another in restrained laughter, amused by the young woman’s floundering.   
      Overhearing their laughter, Peter glanced toward the women in hopes of discerning what they were talking about. Truthfully, he was relieved to see Eilonwy finally making amends with his sisters and attempting to befriend them. She had caused so much tension thus far, her change of attitude was relieving. In the midst of his staring, however, Peter ceased to pay attention to the battle at hand and Edmund tapped his brother on the shoulder with his blade.  
      “I win!” he shouted triumphantly. Snapped of his daze, Peter gasped and turned back to his brother in confusion before narrowing his eyes and playfully swinging his sword toward the boy’s. “You know, Pete, if I didn’t know any better I’d say you have a thing for that girl” Edmund remarked, triggering a light thwack on the arm from his red-faced brother. Thus began another short round of sparring between the two boys, shouting things like “Now block!” and “ _En guard_!” toward one another, until something approaching from the west caught their eye.  
      “Heya! Edmund!” Mr. Beaver shouted, scurrying up to the boys. Startled, Edmund’s horse neighed and reared, nearly sending the boy flying off the creature’s back.  
      “Whoa, horsey!” he shouted, gripping the reins.   
      With a huff, the horse settled and replied in aggravation, “My name is _Phillip_.” Taken aback by the fact the thing could speak, Edmund’s eyes widened and he stammered a quick and quiet sorry before turning his attention back to the Beaver below. Peter sidled up to his brother as the girls dropped their weapons and ran over to see what was the matter.  
      “The witch has demanded a meeting with Aslan! Sh-she’s on her way here!” Mr. Beaver explained breathlessly. Eilonwy stopped dead in her tracks at the news, her heart rising into her throat. All the color that once plagued her cheeks had quickly drained from her face and her knees threatened to give. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she gripped the brocade of her skirt with sweaty palms, nearly forcing herself to remain steady.   
      Dismounting their horses, Peter and Edmund followed the Beaver back to camp alongside their sisters. Before disappearing, however, the eldest glanced sympathetically back towards the huntress, motioning for her to follow. Drawing in a shaky breath, Eilonwy dug her teeth into her lower lip before gathering her skirts and surging forward. Her heart had firmly lodged itself in her throat and visions of her past flickered through her mind. Of all the memories collecting dust in her head, the vision of Jadis looming over her still remained as clear as the day Eilonwy’s mortal life ended. For the first time in a hundred years, she suddenly was to face the woman who mercilessly slaughtered her family.


	12. Chapter Eleven

      Rushing to the main vein of camp, the five halted at the edge of the pathway to spy an ugly little dwarf leading Jadis and her henchmen forward. She was as terrible as Eilonwy remembered her: ghostly skin, harsh eyes, and otherworldly features that put the devil himself to shame. Clammy hands trembled at her sides as she slowly recoiled but not before Peter caught sight of her attempted escape. In one swift motion, he snatched her wrist and met her with a stern gaze.

     “Remember what I said about running from your problems?” he whispered, tugging her closer before returning his gaze to the witch. Apparently he ceased to comprehend the overwhelming fear coursing through his friend’s veins, the violent impact of her trauma. Though she tried to shake herself free of his grasp, she found little success and instead opted to duck behind the knight and his siblings, shaking her hair free of it’s braid so as to let it fall across her face. If she couldn’t leave, she supposed the next best thing would be to hide. She was desperate to avoid drawing attention to herself, for Jadis to spy her among the crowd and know of her alliance. She didn’t have the strength to face that kind of confrontation.   
     Standing beside his tent, a low growl rose from Aslan’s throat as Jadis grew nearer. Her piercing eyes remained locked on the beast as hideous henchmen lowered her bier into the dirt. Panic surged through the quintet of humans as they watched her rise and stride forward, head held high in unwavering confidence. “You have a traitor in your midst, Aslan” she finally spoke, voice cold and unnerving. Her words triggered a symphony of gasps from the crowd, Edmund bowing his head in guilt. His anxiety was obvious as his siblings glanced from him to the witch to the lion.   
      Though Eilonwy knew her time of punishment had passed, the knowledge of her past transgressions strangled her tighter in response. Sucking in a shaky breath, she wrapped her fingers tight around Peter’s wrist in hopes of stabilizing herself despite her weakened knees. Pursing his lips, Peter squeezed her wrist back in comfort, stony gaze locked on their enemy, as his free hand fell upon the hilt of his sword. His sisters were in as much awe of this woman’s presence as everyone else, a horrible terror rushing through their veins. The White Witch had the same electrified aura as the strict headmaster of a prestigious academy, the kind of person who could unleash hell if peeved.   
      “His offense was not against you” Aslan countered in his deep, commanding voice. He glared at the witch with a confident stance, as if at any moment he would pounce and devour her whole.   
      “Have you forgotten the laws upon which Narnia was built?” she tested, raising an eyebrow in condescension.  
      “Do not cite the deep magic to me, witch!” Aslan roared, adding in a low growl, “I was there when it was written.” Even those in allegiance to the beast felt a great tremor shoot down their spines at his defense. A soft whimper escaped Eilonwy’s throat as she struggled to compose herself.   
      “Then you’ll remember well” Jadis replied, “That every traitor belongs to me.” Peter furrowed his brows, glancing from the witch to the lion in hopes of finding some semblance of verification, some reassurance of his brother’s safety. “His blood is my property” she added coldly.   
      At this, Peter drew his sword with clenched jaw and aimed his blade toward the witch. “Try and take him then!” he tested, prepared to fight. Jadis turned her attention toward the knight, a sickening grin spreading across her lips as she tilted her head admirably.   
      “Do you really think mere force will deny me my right, little king?” she abased before her eyes skated to the girl behind him. Panic pulsed through the huntress, slowly lifting her head as Peter stepped forward. In the process, however, her curtain of hair parted to reveal her face and Peter’s wrist slipped from her grasp. Without an anchor, she felt aimless, as if she was drifting through blank space. Her heart leapt into her throat and choked her senseless upon locking eyes with the wicked queen. Her face lit up at the tortured sight, pleased to see such anxiety painting the young woman’s face. “Eilonwy, dear! How nice to see you again. My wolves mentioned something of you alliance before but not see you before my very eyes…” she cooed. “You haven’t changed a bit. Not that I ever expected you to, of course” she addd with a chuckle. Eilonwy almost expected her to skate closer, to caress her cheek and twirl a lock of dark hair around her pale, spindly finger. The huntress wanted to retort, to spit back sour words of hatred, but all she could muster was a strangled grunt as she wrapped her arm around her stomach. She was almost certain she was going to be sick. Detecting her distress, the witch laughed and continued, “Age seems to have dampened your vivacity, Eilonwy! Where is your verve? Your whiskey-strong wit? Has it died along with everything else?”   
      Eilonwy’s face had grown a sickly shade of green and her hands trembled as they gripped at her sides. Having never seen her so vulnerable, Susan and Lucy were taken aback and truthfully unnerved by the sight. Though unaware of Eilonwy’s past, in those moments the details were irrelevant. All they knew now was of the swelling sympathy they felt for this girl and how frightened they were of her body language.   
      Shifting her vision back to Peter, Jadis smirked and continued. “You know, if you’re so keen on saving your brother, you can always trade in the girl instead. I doubt she’s been anything but horrid to you all, anyways” she offered flippantly.   
      Though the rest of the Pevensies were unaware of Eilonwy’s burden, Peter knew. Eyes locked on the witch, he gripped the huntress’s wrist and tightened his grip on his sword. “Not if I have anything to do with it!” he retorted through gritted teeth. All the air had been pounded from Eilonwy’s lungs, never expecting Peter to immediately defend her. She had never been defended before. It was strange yet somehow reassuring. A somber sort of feeling fluttered in her chest.   
      “Silence!” Aslan growled. “Eilonwy’s sins have long since passed. Her punishment has been served and therefore you no longer hold the right to torment her further. She is protected under my sovereign now” he continued.   
      Jadis’s grin quickly turned stone cold as she whipped around to face the beast with narrowed eyes. “Aslan, you know that unless I have blood as the law demands, all of Narnia will be overturned and perish in fire and water!”   
      The lion snarled with hunched shoulders as he eyed the witch. “The Daughter of Eve is exempt from your punishment on the grounds of invalid blood” he explained. The four Pevensies glanced to one another with confused stares as they awaited an elaboration that never came. Rather, the witch simply pursed her lips and straightened her back in displeasure.  
      “Very well, then. The Daughter of Eve has escaped further punishment. However, unless I am given what is owed to me, the whole land will suffer and plummet into the very depths of hell!” Jadis threatened. With a sharp turn of her head, she zeroed in on Edmund and announced, “That boy must die on the Stone Table, as is tradition!”   
      “Enough!” Aslan roared. Tightening his jaw, he inhaled to compose himself before bowing his head and replying, “I shall talk with you alone.” Raising her chin, Jadis huffed with clenched fists and strode forward, following Aslan into his tent. All eyes watched as her and the great beast disappeared together, angel and devil, God and Satan, to discuss someone else’s fate.  
      Time crept by as the two conducted their concealed conversation. The audience outside chattered in hushed tones, dropping into the grass and scuttling across pathways. The humans had seated themselves in a circle, enveloped in anxious silence. Apprehension painted Edmund’s face as shaky hands picked at the grass and tore apart the blades. It was the most he could do to remain relatively calm. In a matter of moments, two otherworldly beings would stand upon an earthen stage and declare his fate. Nothing could ever prepare him to receive such news.   
      Beside him, Lucy rested her head upon Susan’s shoulder and struggled to remain positive. Her optimism had gotten them this far but with her brother’s life hanging in the balance, she was forced to muster all the faith she could from within her little body. With a maternal touch, Susan wrapped an arm around her baby sister’s shoulder in an attempt to quell their anxieties. She, too, was terrified but knew she had to be strong. Susan was a leader, a mother to the motherless, and therefore had to poise herself with all the strength and reassurance she could. It was a quality Eilonwy hadn’t quite noticed in full before but thoroughly admired now that she had.   
      As for the huntress, she stared blankly ahead, knees drawn to her chest and mind drowning in thought. Despite her seat between Peter and Susan, she didn’t exactly feel included in the Pevensie’s clique. Perhaps it was because she knew deep down that she didn’t truly belong with them, that their friendship was only temporary, destined to fade once all was said and done. Or maybe her panic was feeding her exaggerations, she could never tell. The five of them remained silent for ages until finally, someone spoke up.   
      “If all else fails, I’d be willing…” Eilonwy murmured. “I-I’d volunteer to step forward and…and take the brunt.” All eyes snapped up to stare at her, shocked and unnerved. Though Aslan swore she was no longer the witch’s property, Eilonwy still couldn’t help but feel as if she deserved the punishment, let alone wanted it. Her centennial damnation was too torturous a sentence. At least death would grant her an escape from such madness. Edmund was truly taken aback by the girl’s dark albeit generous offer, though his brother quickly protested.   
      “No you will not!” he scolded her, eyes harsh and piercing.   
      “And why not? It’s not like I’m afraid of death! It’d actually be a rather pleasant relief!” Eilonwy countered, digging her nails into the dirt.   
      “Because nobody here is going to die! Not as long as I’m still breathing!” Peter shouted back. There was a desperation in his eyes that made Eilonwy’s stomach churn, as if he was beginning to lose grip on his sanity. She grimaced towards him, opening her mouth to rebuke but was quickly interrupted before she could say anything more.   
      “Stop it! Both of you!” Lucy interjected, brows furrowed in displeasure. The hardness in both Peter and Eilonwy’s faces softened at Lucy’s command, quickly realizing how much their bickering hurt her.   
      “Lucy’s right. Arguing is only going to make matters worse” Susan added in a much calmer tone. She rubbed her baby sister’s shoulder in comfort as she shot her brother and friend a warning glare. Defeated, Eilonwy huffed and dropped her shoulders, averting her eyes. Another short silence enveloped them once more.  
      “I would, though” she mumbled.  
      “No, you wouldn’t” Peter quickly countered.   
      Before Eilonwy could respond, the flaps of Aslan’s tent rippled open and Jadis strutted back towards her minions. The crowd rose in unison, hearts pounding in ears and rising into throats. Posture pin straight, Jadis glared fiercely toward each of her human rivals as she passed. Peter hardened his gaze toward her, clenching his jaw and gripping his sword’s hilt. Deep down, he was screaming inside but he refused to convey anything short of dominance. Susan eyed the witch suspiciously like a mother bear does her opponent, hand still firmly planted upon her baby sister’s shoulder. Discomforted by her prowess, Lucy clasped her hands tight behind her back and forced herself to be brave. All the color drained from Eilonwy’s face as she struggled to keep her composure, stomach churning and throat burning. She grew so uneasy, however, that she immediately clasped her hand over her mouth in fear of vomiting right then and there. As Jadis finally locked eyes with Edmund, he drew in a sharp, shaky breath. His vision blurred with the semblance of impending tears but he willed them away quickly in the stead of appearing strong. However, he knew the next few moments would be the most important of his entire life. In mere seconds, he would officially know whether he was to live or die.   
      As Jadis approached her bier, Aslan strode to the precipice of the plateau with his usual magnificence. An anxious energy charged the air. “She has renounced her claim on the Son of Adam’s blood” Aslan announced. An incomparable relief flooded the entire camp as they erupted into a fit of jarring cheers. Edmund stood there frozen in silence for a minute, unsure if he head the lion correctly (not that lions were supposed to be speaking at all) before he fully comprehended the news and nearly broke down in tears. His siblings immediately surged forward to tackle him in a massive group hug. Soldiers swarmed the humans to issue their sincere congratulations, reveling along with their future monarchs. Off to the side, a tender smile touched uneasy lips as Eilonwy watched the scene play out. Thin arms wrapped around her abdomen as she recoiled, not wanting to intrude upon such a special celebration. Once more, she ceased to feel as if her inclusion was appropriate. After all, Edmund wasn’t her brother and the Pevensies were not her family. She refused to impose.   
      Before departing, Jadis stood before her vehicle with chin held high, glaring contemptuously at the lion before inquiring, “How do I know your promise will be kept?”   
      Clenching his jaw, Aslan then released a roar so mighty, the witch collapsed upon her mobile throne. Another round of cheers pulsed through the crowd, triumphant and joyous, as Aslan watched the witch disappear. Dwarfs and fauns and talking beasts all surged forward to further congratulate the redeemed traitor, clasping the siblings’ hands and grinning wildly. However, in the midst of their victory, only one person recognized a particular sadness veiled behind Aslan’s burning eyes. 

  
      It had been a hundred years since Eilonwy was granted the peace and warmth to admire running water so when it came to that afternoon, she took advantage of the eerie quietness to indulge in riverside solitude. Shoes strewn across the grass, she dipped her toes into the brook and sighed softly at the sensation. The lukewarm water bubbled over her feet and rushed past as if it was hurrying to fulfill some urgent task. Despite wanting nothing more than to revel in the beauty of quiet, Eilonwy’s brain surged with thoughts of all that still lie ahead. The young Pevensie boy may have been cleared of his sentence but there was still a great battle to be fought.   
      Resting her chin in her hands, she pursed her lips as her mind mulled over everything she had faced thus far. The abrupt changes in her life still perplexed her, how just a week earlier all had been mundanely calm and cold and hopeless. Just a week earlier, she had condemned the idea of Aslan and his return. Even in the great lion’s presence, however, she still fostered a crumb of disdain for his apparent ignorance of his people. However, she supposed perhaps there wasn’t much he could’ve done without the prophecy’s help. Her mind harkened back to that torn page from the musty old tome, the ancient words foretelling the Pevensies arrival. And then she thought of Tumnus and how cruel she had been to the poor, dear faun. He was right all along. She should’ve listened to him while she still had the chance, believed him, protected him. A pang of pain struck her chest at the thought of him now, imprisoned and reduced to a shell of the man he once was. She remembered his story of the little girl named Lucy, how she was so bright and kind. His description of her was horrendously accurate.   
      Just then, as if summoned by Eilonwy’s thoughts, the youngest Pevensie appeared from the cluster of trees, eyeing the huntress in concern and confusion. Lucy had been noticing a number of strange things that day and Eilonwy’s disappearance was no exception. Without a word, she bounded toward the river’s shore to seat herself beside her new friend. Startled by the sudden company, Eilonwy gasped and jumped, triggering an adorable giggle from the little girl.   
      “I didn’t mean to scare you!” she cried, setting her own sandals aside to wade in the water, as well. Eilonwy huffed and brushed a few tendrils of hair from her face before shaking her head.   
      “You didn’t scare me. I just wasn’t expecting the company, that’s all” she denied. Lucy could plainly see right through the girl’s facade, rolling her eyes as she leaned back in the grass.  
      “What are you doing down here all by yourself?” she asked. “Is something wrong? You know, you and Peter have both been acting pretty strange lately.”   
      A suspiciously soft smile flashed across Eilonwy’s lips as she shook her head. “I just came down here to think, I suppose. But I’m afraid you’re not quite mature enough yet for all the gory details” she countered. Lucy gasped, crossing her arms about her chest as if she was almost insulted.  
      “I’m mature enough! I’m actually the tallest in my class!” she rebuked matter-of-factly. Eilonwy simply chuckled and shook her head, still unconvinced.  
      “I’m not so sure height has anything to do with maturity, Lucy, but I admire your tenacity” she replied, ruffling the girl’s hair affectionately. She could see why Tumnus cared for her so. Her innocence and determination were quite charming.   
      Wrinkling her nose, Lucy ducked under Eilonwy’s hand before blowing a stray strand of hair from her face. “Oomph, I think my braid’s falling apart. Could you fix it for me, please?” she requested, feeling at the back of her head.   
      Surprised by the inquiry, Eilonwy stammered a moment before cautiously agreeing and scooted to sit behind the young girl. Nimble fingers quickly began remedying the limp braid, untangling the locks and plucking some fresh flowers from the riverbank for decoration. A sad smile graced Eilonwy’s face before speaking. “You know, my sisters used to braid one another’s hair all the time. They used to create this circle with our mum and just sit and braid. It was all very methodical and elegant. They’d never let me join in, though.”   
     “Why not?” Lucy questioned.   
      “Well, I wasn’t quite like they were. They sipped tea all afternoon and babbled about romance novels. I preferred horseback riding and sparring with my father” Eilonwy explained. Lucy slowly nodded, trying to envision the huntress among her own sisters. Much like Peter before her, Lucy had truthfully never really considered the idea of Eilonwy having her own family.   
      “Well, they sound lovely! I do hope I could meet them one day!” Lucy exclaimed. Eilonwy swallowed hard, her fingers stiffening.   
      “Well, they, uh…” she stammered. She could hardly bring herself to admit her sisters were all dead. Envisioning the heartbreak that would undoubtedly overwhelm Lucy was too much for the huntress to handle. Though she was unprepared to spill such grave news, Eilonwy knew honesty was much more important than the preservation of happiness. “My, uh…my sisters all….passed away. It’s been a very long while” Eilonwy finally choked out.   
      A soft _oh_ escaped Lucy’s lips as she bowed her head in disappointment. Eilonwy fought to restrain a whimper rising in her throat at the horrid sight, the young girl’s sadness mirroring her own. Not much else was said in the moments that followed. Unsure of what else to say, Lucy idly paddled her feet in the in the water before drawing her cordial from her belt. Curious fingers grazed the gold engravings as the youngest Pevensie studied it’s intricate details. “Eilonwy, do you think this stuff really works? Do you think it can really cure anything like Father Christmas said?”   
      “Well, I certainly would think so. After all, Father Christmas isn’t one to lie and fireflowers are said to have that sort of power” the huntress replied.  
      Lucy tilted her head thoughtfully before a satisfied grin spread across her face. “Then maybe it can bring your sisters back!” she exclaimed.   
      Surprised by the girl’s unwavering optimism, Eilonwy’s eyes widened before stammering an uncertain, “M-maybe…?” She definitely didn’t want to discount Lucy’s hopes nor could she handle disappointing her a second time, so Eilonwy supposed this time the best method would be to simply tend to the girl’s childish hope.   
      Pleased with the prospect, Lucy tilted her head and gazed upon the cordial admirably. “What is a fireflower, anyway? Is it like a sunflower?” she then asked, glancing at the girl over her shoulder.  
      Unaccustomed to the plant species of the Pevensie’s world, Eilonwy sat puzzled for a moment before hesitantly replying, “I…I suppose so?” Detecting the girl’s curiosity, she then went on to explain, “The fireflowers are said to be from Kronne, one of the Seven Isles in the Great Eastern Sea. Legend has it that the island was infertile for ages before a dying phoenix crashed on the shore and a beautiful red flower grew from it’s last tear. Phoenixes are signs of rebirth, so I guess it’s no surprise a healing flower grew because of one.”   
      A sweet, genuine smile spread across Lucy’s lips as she listened to Eilonwy recount the tale. What once was a dinky little trinket now suddenly seemed to hold so much more meaning. She paid her present one more fond gaze before proudly reattaching it to her belt.   
      Meanwhile, Susan had been traversing the camp in search of her baby sister. Though she knew the White Witch had long since departed, the sickening fear of a possible kidnapping still lodged itself deep within the pit of her stomach. She had already nearly lost Edmund at the hands of the wretched witch. She didn’t need to lose Lucy, too. Gripping her bow, she weaved through the woods cautiously before reaching the river’s meadow. She froze just as the trees petered out, breathless at the sight before her. Although the huntress had formally apologized for her behavior, Susan had still remained vaguely skeptical. Now, however, watching this girl laugh and joke with Lucy, something deep within the eldest sister shifted. It was almost as if a floodgate had been willed open and a warm, tingling sensation began rushing through her veins. Susan spied in that moment a softness in this girl she had otherwise feigned impossible, a sort of maternal quality which Susan even saw in herself. Perhaps Eilonwy wasn’t so brute as she was a protector defending herself, her land, and her people as a mother bear does her cubs. If anything, Susan could at least confirm that Eilonwy was definitely a rare and curious breed.   
      As Eilonwy weaved flowers into Lucy’s braid and tied it off with a leather ribbon, something inside her shifted, as well. This young girl before her was like the sister she always wished she had, caring and funny but also brave. She tilted her head with a soft smile as she watched the youngest leap up and begin to twirl, the full skirts of her dress swishing through the river and spraying water up into the air. She spun until she grew dizzy, then collapsed upon the grass in uproarious laughter, spreading her arms and legs out like a star. After a moment of catching her breath, she sat up then quickly added, “Oh! Thank you for fixing my braid!”   
      Mouth gaping, Eilonwy furrowed her brows as she tried to formulate a response. A part of her couldn’t help but think how silly a thing that was to thank someone for, but then again she wasn’t accustomed to being thanked for anything. Not that she made a habit of helping people in the first place, of course. Finally, however, she murmured a soft, “You’re welcome” before a figure in the grass stirred the girls from their bonding.   
      “Ellie, dear! There you are!” Mrs. Beaver shouted as she scurried nearer. There was a glimmer of excitement in her eyes that quite frankly made Eilonwy very nervous and she frantically searched the beaver’s face for any sign of distress. “You better come quickly, love! There’s a surprise waiting for you back at the camp!”   
      Anxiety electrified Eilonwy’s body at the prospect. Lucy, however, became incredibly excited at the idea and urged the huntress to see what was in store. As the young woman followed her adoptive mother, the youngest Pevensie tagged along curiously, determined to catch a glimpse of the surprise for herself. Susan had disappeared among the brush.   
      Mrs. Beaver weaved through the trees with such urgency that Eilonwy couldn’t help but fear what was awaiting her. Sucking in a sharp breath, she tried her best to keep up, eyes locked on the ground to avoid stumbling in her nervous state. Lucy raced closed behind, a grin pasted on her face, but soon grew dissatisfied upon sensing the huntress’s apprehension. In an involuntary act of comfort, the young girl’s hand shot forward to grip that of her friend. A soft gasp escaped Eilonwy’s lips in surprise, gaze snapping over to the youngest Pevensie in shock and confusion. Lucy simply replied with a reassuring smile as if to affirm everything would be fine. Though it was a small and seemingly insignificant act, it was calming nonetheless. Hand in hand, the pair raced after Mrs. Beaver until they halted at the stables where a curious sight awaited.   
      Eilonwy froze in her tracks, eyes widening and heart catching in her throat. A pair of fauns struggled to grip the reins of an unruly mare, her hooves stamping into the dirt and head swaying viciously. “Everlast!” Eilonwy gasped, rushing forward. The fauns gave way and the horse instantly met her owner to nuzzle her cheek and neigh happily. Eilonwy buried her face into the Clydesdale’s coat and wrapped her arms around her neck, relieved beyond belief that her equine companion was alright. In the midst of the journey’s commotion, she deeply regretted leaving the poor thing behind but somewhere deep down, desperately hoped she would somehow find her way.  
      Mrs. Beaver clutched her paws to her chest as she smiled softly at the scene. She hadn’t seen Eilonwy quite so happy since they left and was pleased to see how much the horse brightened her spirits. Lucy was in awe of the mare’s grand size, having never seen a horse quite so large and beautiful before. Perhaps more astonishing, though, was the amount of love she saw pouring from Eilonwy towards the creature. It was an affection Lucy had never seen her express before and consequently left her breathless.  
      In the nearby clearing, Peter and Edmund had been sparring when their ears caught note of the uproar. Sheathing their swords, they rushed over to inspect the source of the noise, taken aback by the unexpected scene. A crooked smile touched Edmund’s lips as he wasted only a moment to watch. Peter, however, was much more enthralled by such a vision. A strange expression crossed his face, one of intrigue and enchantment, as he watched this unrefined huntress and her loyal mare reunite. There was a particular gleam in her eyes that he had never before seen but it captivated him. For the first time in their short friendship, Eilonwy was genuinely happy and loving. He hadn’t quite understood the strange sensation gnawing at the pit of his stomach the night before but watching this girl now, it all seemed to make sense. The feeling grew until it seized his entire body and it was then that he recognized it all at once. It was unmistakable now. It wasn’t a feeling of fear or uncertainty or sickness. Rather, it was one of _fondness._


	13. Chapter Twelve

   As night fell over Narnia, an inexplicable eeriness came with it. It began at supper as a simple, quiet pulse, a flicker of anxiety in preoccupied bellies. The deeper the sun dipped into the sea, however, the stronger the unease grew until it flooded the valley and haunted all who rest in it’s wake. From beneath thin sheets, Eilonwy pressed the heels of her hands into her eye sockets in hopes of forcing herself to sleep, but to no avail. Colors danced behind her eyelids, a parade of haphazard blotches taunting her inability to rest until finally, she gave up and rolled onto her side with a huff. Strained eyes stared into the darkness at familiar furniture, the stone embedded in her box painting the tent’s ceiling in a tangerine glow. The longer she stared, though, the more she realized something wasn’t quite right. The ornate chair across from her, upon which her crimson cloak was once strewn, stood empty. 

   Before she could ponder further, however, the snap of a branch caught her attention and her eyes darted to a lurking shadow cast upon her tent’s wall. In the darkness, the shape was skewed to where she was unsure whether it’s owner was monster or man. Regardless, any trespasser was worthy of suspicion. Drawing her sword, she hopped to her feet and eyed the figure as it skated toward the entry.   
  “One step further and I’ll draw and quarter you like game!” she threatened, adopting a violent stance. The being froze, back stiff and eyes wide.  
   "You know, you’re becoming dangerously hostile toward my trouser region" Peter jested softly, voice cracking in masked unease. The moment Eilonwy realized it was him, she heaved a sigh of relief and lowered her weapon.   
   "You know, introductions would be rather appropriate here. Don’t they have those where you’re from?“ she asked, sheathing her sword. The knight inched his way closer, eyes darting around the room and hand tucked suspiciously behind his back.  
  "Sorry, I suppose I didn’t want to wake anyone” he replied with a sheepish smile. Eilonwy shot him a puzzled glance as she seated herself on the edge of her bed, then ushered him to join her. Though he hesitated a moment, he eventually shuffled closer and took a seat on the bed beside her. A nervous energy pulsated between them.   
  Shoulder to shoulder, jolts of electricity coursed through the huntress’s body until her ears rang with the pain of silence. Softly clearing her throat, she smoothed her skirts before murmuring, “You, uh, you must be so relieved about your brother.”  
   Rubbing the back of his neck, Peter nodded. “I am. I’m just glad he came back in one piece” he replied with a light chuckle. A small smile flashed on Eilonwy’s lips as she nodded in agreement.   
   "His scrapes and bruises will heal easily, I’m sure. Whatever emotional trauma Jadis inflicted upon him, however…not so much" she replied. Peter’s hollow laugh trailed off, his face slowly sinking into that of a much more serious expression. Eilonwy yearned to know what he was thinking, of the concerns coursing through his head, but couldn’t bring herself to outright ask. Rather, the pair slipped into another deafening silence.   
   Blue eyes locked themselves on the empty chair as the knight’s free hand trembled anxiously. His other was still securely hidden behind his back and for a moment, Eilonwy almost thought she caught sight of something shimmering in his tight grasp. She didn’t dare question it, though.   
   The tension in their quietness escalated until Eilonwy could no longer bear it. Her heart raced in her chest at Peter’s anxious silence, her mouth running dry and palms growing sweaty. Biting her lip, she stared at him a moment more before bursting. “Alright, Peter, tell me why you’re really here.”  
   The sudden disruption startled the knight, as if he had nearly forgotten where he was or who he was with. He stared back at her with wide, confused eyes for a second before floundering to formulate a reply. His stammering was no more reassuring than his silence was and Eilonwy dug her nails into her palms to try and keep her patience.  
   "I-I..I have something to tell you" he spluttered nervously, rising from his seat to pace the tent. Eilonwy furrowed her brows as she watched him, nails digging even deeper into her calloused flesh. “Eilonwy, the…well, the battle is tomorrow and I…I’ve been thinking a lot about the–the dangers that come with it” he continued. In that instance, a wave of relief washed over the huntress as she waited for him to finish, though she already knew exactly what else he was going to say. Obviously, due to his body language and fidgety demeanor, he must have just been insanely nervous. After all, she couldn’t imagine him feeling anything less. A part of him wondered what the wars of his world were like, but she doubted he had participated in any of them. After all, when they first met, he could barely defend himself, let alone an entire country. Dropping her shoulders, Eilonwy rested her chin in her hand as she watched him pace aimlessly and stammer.   
   Her eyes burned holes through Peter’s skin as he struggled to admit what he need to say. He pressed his hidden trinket into his palm nervously, its diadems imprinting his skin, and silently begged for an easy way to confess his emotions. Squeezing his eyes shut, he then finally said it. “Eilonwy, I don’t want you in the battle tomorrow.”   
   Breathless, the huntress’s mouth gaped as she stared blankly toward the knight, stunned by his request. “W-what? But that’s not fair! Why not?” she demanded. A sickening anger rose up from inside of her, coated in thorns and disbelief. After a hundred years surviving on her own, she knew she had just as much if not more expertise than anyone else in Aslan’s army. She wasn’t even sure if Aslan himself had approved Peter’s decision but perhaps it wasn’t the lion’s choice to make. Even without the crown, Peter was already acting like a high king and his growing superiority made her sick.   
  Sucking in a deep breath, Peter rubbed his eyes with his free hand and searched for the right words to say. It wasn’t even as if his request was planned, though he didn’t dare tell her what he originally intended. He wasn’t brave enough. “Eilonwy, please try to understand. I have a responsibility to keep Narnia safe and that includes you, too. Battles are ugly and dangerous and no place for a woman. You could get severely injured or-or worse and I refuse to let that happen. You’re not going” he elaborated. As he recited his spiel, his confidence slowly evolved until his back had straightened and he was eyeing Eilonwy with an authoritative gaze. Despite his vast knowledge of her skill, there was a morsel of truth in his lie. The vision of his friend stabbed or slaughtered churned his stomach and obstructed his throat.  
   Fury began coursing through Eilonwy’s veins at his speech, however, growing angrier with each word until she finally exploded. “I can’t believe you! You knew nothing until I came along and even then, you’re still inferior! What do you expect me to do meanwhile, anyways? Sit idly by like some lady in waiting? Knit afghans with Mrs. Beaver? You know, my gender does not make me any less of a solider than you or anyone else in this godforsaken camp!” she ranted, abruptly rising from the bed.   
   "Eilonwy, i-it’s not–!“ Peter tried to interrupt but the huntress refused to pause in her fury.  
   "I am strong enough and skilled enough and you know that! Unless your greatest fear is that a woman could kill the White Witch quicker and cleaner than you could. Is that what it is? Are you afraid I’m better than you? That a woman is better than you? Hmm? Or is it something else? Humor me, Peter, please!” she spewed, fists clenched at her sides. Peter tried to interject but to no avail. By the end of her shouting, Eilonwy’s face had grown bright red and her brows were furrowed at an almost unnatural angle.   
   Peter was shaken by her rage for only a moment before forcing a kingly air about himself, clenching his jaw and staring down at her with a stony gaze. “Eilonwy, I’m not going to negotiate this. I have enough to worry about, let alone keeping you from getting yourself killed” he responded.   
   "You never answered my question!“ she shouted back, glaring up at him. He was easily an entire foot taller than her which made it very hard to feel as intimidating as she wished she did.   
   "Who said I needed to?” Peter rebuked. The muscles in his jaw flexed with frustration and a hint of fear.   
   "I do!“ she screamed. "I think I at least deserve an explanation as to why you’re treating me like…like some child! My seniority ought to be enough to make you think twice of your commands, your majesty. I’d be an invaluable asset to Aslan’s army and you know that!”   
   "Your skill is no longer important! Your disobedience, however, is! Why can’t you just listen to someone other than yourself for once in your life? You don’t always know best, Eilonwy!“ Peter fired back.   
   At that, Eilonwy bit her lip and glared up at the knight with glossy eyes. Over the years, she had been beaten, belittled, and abandoned yet somehow his words hurt more than everything else combined. Bowing her head, she murmured softly, "I can’t believe I ever thought I could trust you.” The pain quivering in her voice was brutally evident, though she refused to admit it’s presence. In one swift motion, she drew her sword and pointed the blade’s tip at Peter’s chest. “Get out. Now” she commanded quietly. Peter only allowed himself a moment to express his surprise before straightening his back once more, though his dominance slowly began to crumble beneath her harsh eye contact. “I-I said get out!” she shouted, poking her blade nearer to him.   
   "Why is this so hard for you?“ Peter fired back, refusing to retreat at the mercy of her defense. Given his previous experiences, a deep part of him expected Eilonwy to impale him that very instance but he noticed a certain glimmer in her eyes that negated the idea. It was, he perceived, a foreign softness to her usually threatening nature. One that hinted that perhaps she no longer had the capacity for that level of hatred. Or at least he hoped.   
   "Because you’re being an absolute ass! My safety should be the least of your concerns, especially when it could greatly affect your success in battle. Why do you even care so much, anyways?” she shouted back.  
   "Because I–!“ Peter started before quickly halting himself. He was then met with a grave decision to make, the hardest kind of all. He was met with the opportunity to tell the truth. The words he had wanted to say from the beginning tangled in his throat and choked him breathless, the trinket nearly piercing his skin. Averting his eyes, he drew in a deep breath and attempted to center himself.  
   "Well?” Eilonwy spat after a few moments of silence, growing wildly impatient. She detected a strange sense of indecision on Peter’s face, reflecting an internal conflict she didn’t quite understand. The sole presence of it jolted her heart into her throat and charged an electricity through her limbs that trembled her hands violently. She needed an answer, a reassurance, an explanation as to why he was treating her in such a way.  
   Finally, he mustered the most viable answer he could form. “Because I’m the high king and _you_ listen to _me_ ” he spoke with quiet restraint, gaze hard and teeth clenched. There was a forced confidence in his features that instantly took hold of Eilonwy and forced her to lower her blade. In that instance, she finally saw the return of that terrified boy she had first met in Allies Enclave, that same fear painting his face as when he stared upon Jadis’s imposing castle. He may have been a knight but he was still just a kid. Not only that, but he was a kid thrown into an adult war. A kid silently screaming his fears. Dropping her gaze to the grass, she sunk back down upon her cot and the pair drifted into a heavy silence.   
   The quietness slowly cooled both their tempers until they were overflowing with emptiness and regret. Their opinions still stood strong but their desires for those opinions were another matter entirely. As time crept by, Eilonwy finally opened her mouth to speak. “Y-you should, uh…you should get back. Edmund’s probably wondering where you ran off to” she whispered, refusing to meet his gaze. Eyes locked on the dirt, Peter drew in a deep breath before giving a minute nod and digging the toe of his boot into the dirt.  
   "You’re right. I-I wouldn’t want to worry him…“ he murmured back. Wrapping her arms around her abdomen, Eilonwy watched with solemn eyes as Peter approached the exit. His movements were slow and sluggish as if he was lugged down by the weight of the world. He brushed back the tent’s flaps and disappeared from her view, pausing within the cul de sac of residential quarters. Kicking at the earth, he cursed under his breath and dug the trinket deeper into his flesh. He just couldn’t understand why this was so damn hard for him, why he couldn’t just tell her what she needed to know. The thought of admitting his feelings made him instantly weak and he swallowed hard to try and rid himself of the overwhelming fear. He couldn’t swallow back his desperation, though. He needed to tell her, especially with the lingering time constraints of an impending war. For all he knew, he may not have any other chance. For all he knew, this was his last night alive. Staring up at the stars dancing overhead, he sighed in exasperation and searched for some inkling of reassurance. When he found none, he bowed his head, squeezed the trinket deeper against his palm, and returned to his tent in silent defeat.   
   Across the way, Lucy lay awake in her own bed, huffing frustratedly as she tried to find the most comfortable position. A strange grunting noise caught her attention, however, and she jolted upright to find the shadow of a massive beast gliding across the tent’s wall.   
   "Susan!” she whispered frantically, recognizing the creature at once. Furrowing her brows, the young woman squinted at her baby sister in confusion before spying the form itself. In an instant, the two threw back their blankets and snatched their weapons. As Lucy approached the exit, however, she glanced back to find her elder sister had paused beside the foot of the bed. Beneath her usual cloak lay a pile of bright red fabric, it’s underside invisible. Lucy’s eyes widened a moment at the initial sight of it, taken aback by it’s presence. “Susan, where did that come from?” the youngest questioned suspiciously.   
   Susan pursed her lips as she hooked her own cape around her neck. “I’m just borrowing it!” she replied, trying to save face. “Besides, I can’t imagine things would go very well should we be seen out of bed at such an hour” she added. Lucy sighed indecisively, paying one last glance to the beast’s figure as it disappeared into the trees. Before she could protest, however, Susan had already scooped up the magical cloak and disappeared into the darkness.   
   Before they could venture very far, Susan placed a gentle hand upon Lucy’s shoulder and beckoned her closer. Though the youngest was all too eager to unearth the great lion’s strange plan, Susan better understood the tactics behind successful sneaking. In one swift motion, she wrapped the mystical fabric around the both of them and they vanished from sight.   
   Aslan crept through the forest in slow, methodical movements, head bowed and eyes locked on the ground before him. The girls watched curiously, their minds racing as they tried to deduce what he was doing or where he was going. There were only so many responsibilities he could need to fulfill at such a late hour but the Pevensie sisters were determined to discover the truth. They stepped lightly as they weaved through the maze of trees, careful not to step on a stray twig or crunch the leaves beneath their feet. No matter how silently they lurked, however, they could not fool the ancient lion.   
   "It’s very late. Shouldn’t you both be asleep?“ he asked suddenly, pausing amongst the evergreens. A gasp escaped Lucy’s lips as Susan slowly tore away the cloak.   
   "How did you…?” the eldest began before Aslan interrupted.  
   "You cannot easily fool me with such trickery. I will always know of your whereabouts" he explained. A soft blush rose to Susan’s cheeks, her plan foiled, as she averted her eyes in embarrassment. The lion’s ethereal knowledge was puzzling and slightly concerning but now that she knew of his power, her theft seemed rather unnecessary. Licking her lips, she balled the cloak up and held it close to her chest as she and her sister approached.   
   "Please, Aslan. Can we come with you?“ Lucy asked hopefully, hands clasped to her chest. Standing so close to the lion, she was overcome with his magnificence and flooded with a warm sensation of longing and protection.   
   Aslan remained silent for a moment before bowing his head and replying, "As it is yoru right, you may, but only for a short while. I give you my thanks for the company, however short it may be.” In that instant, his words seemed to convey an underlying permission for the two young queens to do the terrifying thing they did next. Hesitantly, Lucy lifted her hand to softly intertwine her fingers with the lion’s mane. His ear twitched slightly but he ceased to protest, so they both laced the thick hair in their grasp as they walked.   
   Moonlight fell through the branches in fragmented patches across three solemn faces traversing the wood. The journey seemed infinite, all the trees nearly identical to one another. The quietness instilled a sense of tranquility within them, yet deep down charged the girls with an inexplicable paranoia. They didn’t dare question the beast regardless of their hunger for an explanation.  
  Just before reaching a break in the trees, the lion paused and broke their eternal silence. “The time has come. From here, I must go on alone” he announced in his deep, solemn voice. Lucy slowly released her grip, recoiling towards her sister as Susan sidled up beside her. The eldest stared at him with a grave confusion that sparked unavoidable questioning, yet again proving that she had no qualms about making herself heard.   
   "But Aslan, why can’t you–?“ she started but the great lion interrupted her.  
   "Silence, dear one. You must trust me. Now, it is time you both were in bed. There are things after dark not meant for young girls’ viewing” he spoke. There was a sadness in his burning eyes that further heightened the sisters’ concern, their hearts beating out of their chests in a symphony of fear and desperation. They stood in silence as the lion disappeared into the trees, the faint beating of drums reaching their ears. It took only a moment before they both knew what they must do. Paying a moment’s glance towards each other, Susan draped the cloak across herself and her sister before disappearing into the night.   
   When Peter returned, Edmund remained fast asleep and the knight silently thanked the heavens for his brother’s constant slumber. He assumed the hammock into which the boy was sloppily tucked was certainly much more accommodating than the arrangements in Jadis’s palace. Peter shuddered at the thought. Sliding off his boots, he settled into his own bed yet found he still could not fall asleep. He constantly shifted and sighed, preoccupied with the sea of thoughts surging through his brain. He thought of the battle, of whether he was skilled enough to defeat the White Witch. He thought of his brother and his recent imprisonment, of the horrible conditions he must’ve been subjected to and how wonderful vengeance for Edmund would feel. He thought of his sisters, their sweet faces and melodic voices, and how desperately he wanted to keep them safe, too. Peter had already agreed that he didn’t want either of them in battle, either, for the sake of their safety and his sanity. Wars were no place for women, let alone his beloved Susan and Lucy. If anyone was deserving of a good beating, Peter believed it was himself. He would much rather take the brunt of the attack than to put his siblings in danger. Or Eilonwy.   
   Chewing over their argument filled him with a great disdain for the way things unfolded. Her disobedience was in no way satisfying, though neither was his hesitancy. A strong energy took hold of him in that moment, shoving him out of bed until he found himself rummaging through his trunk for parchment. If he couldn’t speak to her, perhaps he could bleed his feelings onto paper and submit them to her without the confrontation. Then at least she would finally know the truth. Smoothing out an unearthed scrap upon the nearby desk, he dipped his quill into the ink and began frantically scribbling every thought that popped into his head. The scratch of the quill’s tip soothed him, as did seeing the fragmented confession spring to life upon the page. When he was finished, he shook the numbness from his hand, fanned the parchment dry, and folded it into a neat little triangle for organization’s sake. His eyes then drifted to the trinket lying upon the desk. Sapphire eyes studied it longingly for a moment, the diadems of the heart-shaped charm glimmered in the moonlight, framed by the tangle of it’s leather chain. Peter ran his finger over the jewels encrusted in the metal, the crystals cool against his skin. He scooped it up and let it fall between his hands before snatching away a small velvet sack from his trunk and slipping the necklace and note inside. Tying the bag shut, he tucked it beneath his pillow and then curled up for a hollow sleep.   
   Stark sunlight cast it’s ray upon Peter’s face in the mid-morning hours, warming his cheeks and lulling him awake. Rubbing his eyes, he propped himself up on his elbows and squinted until his vision clarified. Soft grass scratched at his bare arms and lush evergreens towered above him. The faint babbling of a nearby brook sang in his ears. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of an ethereal figure gliding towards him and his heart rate instantly quickened. He wanted to jolt up and draw his sword in fear of an approaching enemy but found his limbs were paralyzed by some inexplicable calmness. As he slowly turned to face his opponent, however, his mouth ran dry and his palms grew sweaty.  
   He knew it was her immediately yet there was something innately different about her. Once pale and papery skin was now soft and sunkissed, her tangled hair pulled into an intricate braid down her back. Her face seemed fuller, all rosy cheeks and glinting eyes. She licked her cherry lips and uttered a soft laugh that rattled the autumn leaves. Her dress hugged her body rather than hung from it, her figure fuller and for a moment, he swore in certain movements it seemed as if her waistline had expanded. Perhaps most noticeable, however, was the band around her finger and the crystalline charm dangling from her neck. She flashed a crooked smile before beckoning him towards her, mischief emanating from her hazel eyes.   
   Suddenly, all the weight that had paralyzed Peter vanished and he hopped to his feet quickly before chasing after his friend. Time seemed nonexistent as they raced in the glow of an autumn sun. They continued their game until they were damp with sweat and tumbled into the fallen leaves with uproarious laughter. By now, Eilonwy’s braid had come undone, her wild hair falling across her face and wrapping around her arms. Peter chuckled softly and rolled over to brush the tendrils back behind her ears, receiving a soft smile in return. A dreamy look was cast upon her face and instantly, she was irresistible. Cupping her cheek, he leaned down to press his forehead against hers. His other hand skated down her neck, across her chest and abdomen, and lightly gripped her waist. His lips were drawn towards hers but before he could kiss her, something else suddenly captured his attention.   
   "What about the battle? And the witch?“ he whispered breathlessly.   
   Eilonwy furrowed her brows as she leaned her head back to better view him. "What battle? What witch?” she asked in genuine confusion. Peter released her from his grasp and laid back beside her in the leaves, staring up at the clouds in absolute bewilderment. Perhaps it all was just a dream: the winter, the witch, the lion, the war. Perhaps everything he had ever lived thus far was a dream, including his time in London, and everything that ever was had occurred in Narnia. Perhaps there was never a time when he wasn’t a king.   
   Eilonwy propped herself up on her elbows, glancing over at him in concern before rolling cautiously onto her side and taking Peter’s hand in hers. “No more talk of war, love. This is our time now” she murmured softly. Her words, though uncharacteristic, somehow soothed him and the young king sighed in relief. Satisfied, a soft smile graced Eilonwy’s lips as she reached forward and caressed his cheek. Her soft touch sent a jolt of pleasure through his veins and he closed his eyes with a satisfied smile at the sensation. However, once his eyes shut, everything turned black and the warm sunlight had faded for the chill of the dawn. Eilonwy’s touch disappeared. The leaves beneath him softened into blankets wrapped around his body. Blinking awake, Peter was back in his tent alongside Edmund…but they weren’t alone.   
   With a gasp, the knight quickly drew his sword and pointed it toward the strange being. Edmund, now awake, glanced to his brother frantically as the dryad before them raised a leafy hand in surrender.  
   "Be still, my princes. I come in peace. However, I bring grave news from your sisters" she explained in her echoing voice. Her words quickly engulfed Peter in panic, lowering his sword slowly as he awaited her elaboration. Edmund inched himself upright in his hammock, drawing his knees to his chest as he paid one more glance to his older brother. Averting her eyes, the dryad continued sadly, “The great Aslan was murdered upon the stone table last night, by witness of your sisters.”   
   The incredible words lingered in the air for moments on end, turning the boys numb at their impact. “How?” Peter choked out. His hands trembled as he sat up, trying to appear as regal and authoritative as one possible can while sitting in a hammock. His mind scrambled to piece together what was now to become of the matter at hand. He had concerned himself so profusely with the safety of others, he never thought to protect the one being he was certain could protect himself. Now Aslan was gone and Peter had nowhere to turn. He was completely on his own.   
   The dryad was very obviously pained by the knight’s questioning, averting her eyes and shaking her head sadly. “By knife of the White Witch, Jadis, or so it is told” she replied softly. Her leaves trembled, but both Peter and Edmund knew it was not in response to the breeze.  
   Pulling his knees tight against his chest, Edmund tried to make sense of the dryad’s words, to calculate the truth. He may have only just met the magnificent beast but a deep, muted part of him already felt as if he had known Aslan for a lifetime. Even worse, though, was the hazy realization approaching him in the darkness. His mind harkened back to that afternoon, Jadis’s words echoing in his ears: _His blood is my property. That boy must die on the Stone Table, as is tradition._ The witch may have renounced her claim on Edmund’s blood but that didn’t mean she was cheated out what she was owed. The puzzle pieces all aligned. Aslan sacrificed himself to save Edmund. The lion’s death was all his fault. A sickening bout of nausea immediately seized Edmund’s stomach.   
   Drawing in a deep breath, Peter furrowed his brows in deep thought before turning his gaze back upon their messenger. “You are excused” he commanded and the dryad disappeared quickly. A weighted sadness enveloped the room as the Pevensie brothers sat in silence for a few unending moments.   
   "I guess we ought to tell the others" Edmund then suggested, breaking their silence. Peter looked up at his brother and gave a single nod before they both rose from their beds, burdened with an indescribable task. The morning air was relatively cool and reeked of ash and breakfast meat. Fauns and centaurs were already sharpening swords and polishing shields in preparation for the battle ahead and a lump rose in Peter’s throat. As he and his brother approached Aslan’s men, something tugged at the eldest’s chest and he glanced back towards Eilonwy’s tent solemnly.   
   "Ed, you go on ahead. I have something I need to take care of first" Peter explained. Edmund looked from his brother ot the tent and back again with great suspicion but replied with merely a nod before disappearing. Now that he was alone, a crushing weight began to envelope the young knight but he mustered his strength in the stead of responsibility. Sneaking back into his tent, he snatched the velvet sack from under his pillow and tucked it behind his back. The flaps of Eilonwy’s tent billowed open at the mercy of the breeze and he peeked inside to find her fast asleep. Relieved, he tiptoed into the tent, slowly lifted the lid of her box, and planted the sack inside.   
   Drawing in a sharp inhale, Peter gazed upon the box sadly for only a moment before turning his attention to the sleeping huntress. Her messy hair fell like a tangled crown about her head, stray curls painting her pale face. She had returned to her usual self, papery skin and bony figure, but deep in slumber she seemed much more benign than she had the night before. Without hesitation, he gingerly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and chuckled softly as she wrinkled her nose, her eyes slowly blinking awake to view him. At first, in her drunken state, she sighed softly and the corners of her lips turned upward into a delicate smile. Once she fully regained her consciousness, however, whatever sweet disposition she had portrayed was quickly replaced with her usual whiskey-strong wit. She sat bolt upright, eyes squinting into a glare, as she swatted Peter’s hand away from her.   
   "What the hell do you think you’re doing? Get out!“ she commanded, reaching for her sword. Peter lunged forward to grip her wrist in an effort to stop her, calling her name to capture her attention. When he finally did, she noticed a sadness in his eyes that immediately silenced her. It was a very distinct breed of sadness, the kind of that paints someone’s face when something has recently gone very, very wrong. Her heart constricted her throat and her fingers twitched. "P-Peter…what’s happened….?” she asked slowly, quietly.   
   Peter pursed his lips and tried to muster the strength to tell her, his blue eyes growing glossy. Sucking in a deep breath, he finally choked out, “Aslan is dead.”


	14. Chapter Thirteen

   As the sun peeked over the horizon, Aslan’s camp was bustling with soldiers scrambling to alter preparations for the impending war. Peter’s heart pounded in his chest as he surged forward, the massive tent at the heart of camp seeming even more intimidating to those hoping to disprove it’s vacancy. Entering without permission almost felt wrong, like trespassing, but Peter knew it was necessary. Drawing in a sharp breath, the young knight swallowed his anxiety and barged inside. Nothing.

   Nails dug into his palms as Peter stood deathly still, absorbing every detail of the vacant chamber. The interior was fairly bare except for a small mahogany dresser adorned with a small clock and an array of brightly colored glass bottles. Peter wasn’t quite sure what a lion would even do with glass bottles but as he inspected them, he discovered each contained an equally potent perfume and assumed perhaps they had some mystical property. Some were sweet, like roses or vanilla, while others cast a much more pungent and unpleasant scent. He recoiled and spluttered at the intensity of one that reeked like rotten eggs before regrouping. Disheartened by the barren living space, he then paid the place one final gaze before sucking in a deep breath and breaking into the hazy dawn.   
   A trio of sullen, familiar faces awaited him upon his exit. A map of Narnia was laid out upon a table before them. “Well?” Eilonwy asked, eyeing Peter unsteadily. Her arms were crossed tight about her chest, teeth gnawing at her lower lip until she nearly broke it’s scab and bled.  
   "The dryad was right. He’s gone" Peter spoke in a low, restrained voice. The huntress’s face fell, shoulders dropping and lungs deflating. Spoken word of Aslan’s death was already terrifying enough but the visual proof brought a sickening reality to the circumstance. After so many years of condemning his existence, his death now plagued her with a horrendously irrational guilt. Rather than feel responsible for the tragedy, it was more a regret for her past behavior. If only she had been kinder, sweeter, more optimistic and faithful, then perhaps her relationship with the beast would’ve been that much more worthwhile. Regardless, there was no way to turn back time and change the story. Aslan was dead. All that was left to do now was hope for the best.   
   Exhaling sharply, Edmund glanced to the map, then to his brother. The knight rested his fists upon the table’s edge and stared down at the page in deep concentration. The distress painting his face was easily recognizable, complete with the very distinct twitch of his jaw. His head pounded with all that he was set to face, with how aimless he felt in those sleep drunken moments. Pursing his lips, Edmund turned to Oreius in hopes of finding at least a morsel of guidance or reassurance. Nothing. As Edmund averted his eyes in defeat, the conclusion of their circumstance slowly clarified in his mind. “Then you’ll have to lead us, Pete…” he murmured, glancing to his brother.  
   Without missing a beat, Peter’s head snapped up from the map. “Ed, I can’t!” he argued. Genuine fear painted his face and he swallowed hard in hopes of murdering his anxiety. There were many tasks in which Peter felt confident completing but this was not one of them. Perhaps Eilonwy was correct in her argument from the night before.  
   "Peter" Edmund began, “the White Witch will stop at nothing to get this country back under her thumb. She obviously must not think you can handle this but Aslan believed you could. And so do I.” Peter pursed his lips as an inkling of confidence slowly grew from inside him.   
  “And I, as well” a voice then murmured, raspy and low. Sapphire eyes were instantly drawn to it’s mysterious owner. White knuckled hands gripped the table’s edge, hazel eyes staring harshly through a forest of tangled hair. With chapped lips slightly parted, Eilonwy lifted her chin in a sore attempt to appear strong and noble before the knight. Her words took Peter by surprise, having never expected her, of all people, to voice such support. It was a small gesture, of course, but a powerful one to say the least.   
   "The witch’s army is nearing, sire. What are your orders?“ Oreius then questioned. Sucking in a deep breath, it was then that the weight of Peter’s position fully hit.  A schoolboy from Finchley was going to lead an entire army into battle. Three hundred soldiers were at his command. Every decision made would affect each of their lives in one way or another, if not possibly end them. Frantic eyes searched the map for answers, though he knew there would be no X’s marking the spot.   
   Understanding the importance of the next few moments, Edmund shuffled away from the table and eyed Eilonwy expectantly. The huntress, at first, met his gaze with suspicion, considering herself credible enough to assist but Peter’s distress quickly changed her mind. She had never seen him quite so concentrated, so enthralled but her heart immediately ached at the sight. A sigh passed her lips as she hesitantly scooted away to follow the youngest Pevensie boy.   
   The pair ventured through the camp in silence, entrenched in a veil of awkwardness. However, there was a familiarity in the boy’s eyes that captured Eilonwy’s attention. It was the same ache the pit of her stomach she felt whenever she looked upon Jadis or her castle, a reminder of trauma and tragedy. Perhaps she would go so far as to say she saw fractals of herself reflected in this boy. She could only look upon him for mere seconds at a time.   
   Edmund and Eilonwy wandered with little sense of direction, wading through the dewy grass and morning fog. The archery range cried for the huntress from her peripheral vision and, eager breath hitching in her throat, she snatched up a nearby bow and quiver and approached the starting mark.   
   Protest tangled in Edmund’s throat as he glanced back to his brother, then to the huntress. Being in her presence filled him with an inferiority he had only ever truly felt twice before: in the White Witch’s dungeons and standing before his father in uniform. He was truly perplexed by how someone as wild and plain as this woman could make him feel so small. Furrowing his brows, he watched her intently as she hooked the notch into the string, drew back to her cheek, and sent the arrow whizzing through the air to puncture the bullseye. A satisfied smirk flashed on Eilonwy’s lips as she reached for the quiver.   
   "W-where did you learn to shoot like that…?” Edmund then asked, words choked in his throat. _Reminder not to get on her bad side_ , he thought to himself uneasily.   
   Eilonwy hadn’t expected the boy to speak so when he did, she paused a moment to comprehend his words. When she was certain it wasn’t just a figment of her imagination, she glanced to Edmund over her shoulder and replied bluntly, “Practice makes perfect.”   
   The boy gave a small nod and inhaled, glancing around the camp nervously. Though her answer made sense, it wasn’t quite what he was expecting. Not that he knew for sure _what_ he expected in the first place. After a few more moments of silence, he then spoke again. “You know, Peter never really gave much of an explanation as to who you are.”   
   Huffing a stray strand of hair from her face, Eilonwy hooked another arrow to her bow with increasingly shaky hands. She didn’t want to have to explain herself, even to someone as presumably relateable as Edmund. He may have faced similar traumas but they were not the same person. Without looking up, the huntress replied, “The name’s Eilonwy. Let’s just say I helped out. You can thank me later.” Edmund nodded slowly, processing her words before something inside of him clicked.  
   "Eilonwy…?“ he asked abruptly. It was such a strange and unique name, he knew he had recognized it at once. "You know, the White Witch talked about you. I don’t really understand what she meant, but she said something that sounded very vengeful about you” he continued. A shiver ran down Eilonwy’s spine, her arrow releasing prematurely and whizzing far beyond the target into the woods. A great crack indicated it’s final destination as the trunk of a tree.   
   "I’m sure it’s nothing I haven’t heard before" she said, expelling a puff of air from her throat as she did so. She tossed her bow into the dirt and clapped her hands clean before whipping around to face the young boy beside her. Despite her cavalier attitude, the moment she faced him, Edmund could see a certain fear in her eyes. It was the same kind that overwhelmed the witch herself at the mention of Aslan’s name. A spark of curiosity instantly alighted inside him at the mere presence of it, a desperation to know more of her.  
   Edmund watched her a moment more before then asking, voice low and delicate, “What did she do to you?”   
   Taken aback by the question, Eilonwy stammered a moment before furrowing her brows and locking eyes with the ground. Instantly, she was cornered. There was no way she could avoid the subject now. If his brother’s behavior was any indication, Edmund would be the type to demand answers and she was fearful of what he’d do if she refused. _Ridiculous_ , she thought to herself in disgust, _terrified of a little boy._ Sucking in a deep breath, she choked out the simple reply, “She took everything.”   
   Despite her brief response, in that instance, gruesome details were unnecessary. The pain masked in Eilonwy’s eyes fed Edmund something much more powerful than specifics: an understanding of emotions rather than words. The huntress toyed with a frayed thread from her skirt before brown eyes burned through her sanity. She slowly lifted her gaze, shocked to find sympathy rather than demand staring back at her. Her throat tightened as she licked her lips and Edmund immediately expected her to break down in tears. Instead, she remained solemn and strong as they shared a sympathetic gaze for one precious moment before drawing their attention to more pressing matters.   
   From across the way, brooding eyes fell upon the pair and silently beckoned them closer. In one swift motion, Edmund and Eilonwy snapped from their trance and rushed forward, skidding to a halt beside Peter and the centaur. The knight paid the map one last frantic glance, fists clenched at his sides, before giving a bold nod to Oreius. “I guess I ought to get ready then” he responded, voice shaking against his will. The centaur gave an approving nod, stamping his hooves into the dirt, as Peter motioned for him and his brother to follow. As she watched the trio depart, however, a surging desperation suddenly overwhelmed Eilonwy and without sparing another second, she barged after them.   
   "Peter, wait!“ she called, flanking the knight. Startled by her shout, Peter and his posse halted and turned to face the approaching girl. "Listen, I know last night you said you didn’t want me in battle but things are different now. Aslan is gone and you could use all the help you can get. I’m capable enough, I know I am. So please, say you’ll change your mind. Grant me approval to fight alongside you and I swear, you won’t regret it” she begged.   
   Dropping his shoulders, Peter sighed and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. “Eilonwy, please. I don’t have time for this!” he argued. Preoccupied with his newfound duty, he turned to depart but Eilonwy quickly snatched his wrist to stop him. With a huff of frustration, she glanced desperately to Oreius and Edmund. The centaur met her with a stony glare, as if he believed she was unfit to even think of such things, but Edmund’s response was another matter entirely.   
   "Wait, Pete. I think you should listen to her. I’ve seen what Eilonwy can do and I think we could really benefit from her help" the boy replied. Eilonwy’s mouth fell open, having never expected Edmund to voice such support. Now that he had, a potent sense of warmth and camaraderie enveloped her body. Of all the Pevensie children, he was the only one with any semblance of understanding toward her traumas and while she once resented the differences, she quickly shoved them away in her mind.   
   Peter’s head snapped up instantly at Edmund’s suggestion, his brows knitting together in slight offense. “Ed, it’s bad enough I’m letting you fight. I don’t want Eilonwy in battle, too, no matter how skilled she is” he explained. Then, turning his attention back to the huntress, he reiterated, “You’re _not_ going.”   
   Narrowing her eyes at the knight, Eilonwy opened her mouth to speak but before she could offer her rebuttal, Oreius interrupted. “Battles are no place for a woman like yourself. You ought to learn to obey your future king.”   
   Eilonwy’s mind harkened back to the day her father left for war, to the king and knight’s horrid belittling. With reddened cheeks, Eilonwy grunted and snarled, “Fine, then! I never wanted any part of this anyways!” Shooting one final glare in Peter’s direction, she turned on her heels and stormed off.   
   The trio watched her stomp away for a brief moment before Edmund turned to his brother with a worn expression and replied, “You should’ve just let her fight.” Shaking his head, he trudged in the opposite direction alongside a disgruntled Oreius to be outfitted in armor.  
   As they departed, Peter gazed at the huntress for one second more before sighing and muttering, “Dammit, Eilonwy. If only you understood…”   
   Engulfed in rage, Eilonwy burst through the flaps of her tent and unsheathed her sword. Releasing a massive battle cry, she swung the blade dangerously, letting it hack away at the bedpost, the table, and even the fabric walls. Feathers flew everywhere, her blade even tearing apart her pillows. As she released her rage, however, her elbow knocked her box and sent it tumbling into the grass. The lid popped off, the stone inset cracked, and something hidden inside slid onto the carpet.   
   With one final shriek, she fell to her knees and pressed the heels of her hands to her eye sockets. Sweat dripped down her forehead, cheeks aglow, and her fingers trembled on their own accord. Sniffling, she shook her head and sighed as she fought the frustration strangling her throat. It was in that moment that a strange something shimmering nearby caught her eye and immediately sobered her. Drawing in a sharp breath, she leaned over to pull the velvet sack into her lap. Nimble fingers worked at the fastening before reaching inside to find a folded scrap of parchment and a delicate pendant. Brows furowed, she quickly set the necklace aside and unfolded the note, eyes scanning the message frantically. Once she reached the end, a sob caught in her throat.

  
 _Dear Eilonwy,_  
   I understand you’re frustrated with me and I am quite frankly the last person you probably ever wish to speak to, but I must say this or else I’ll surely explode. First and foremost, I am sorry for being so utterly cruel to you earlier tonight. Of course you are greatly skilled and would make a phenomenal soldier. However, I still refuse to grant you permission to fight. Don’t crumple this note quite yet. I have a very valid reason. I’ve been desperate to tell you for days, perhaps even since we met, but telling the truth is one of the hardest feats. Especially when the truth is quite as terrifying as this. I know that if I never say it, though, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Or however much longer I’ll live, that is. With the battle tomorrow, I’m not getting my hopes high on surviving, which just worsens the pressure. As much as I wish I could tell you in person, the words can never seem to find their way to my mouth and therefore writing you is my next best option.   
   I care for you, Eilonwy. Very deeply, in fact. If anything was to happen to you, should you be severely injured or killed, I’m not sure what I would do. You have been a wonderful ally these past few days, even if you are truthfully the most disagreeable human being I have ever come into contact with. Your honesty, strength, and devotion duly outweigh whatever nasty disposition you seem to so effortlessly cast. I know you are hurting. I know you have faced horrors I could never even fathom. I also know those horrors have hardened your heart and turned you cynical and wary. Ever since we arrived in Aslan’s camp, however, I have seen past those barriers. I’m rather fond of what I’ve found behind them.  
   You say you don’t want me to care for you, that you don’t deserve to be cared for, but that will never stop me from wanting you to be happy and safe. You deserve so much more than you think you do. Be kind to yourself. If there is anything I ask of you, it is to please be kind to yourself.  
   With the battle nearing, there’s no guarantee I or anyone else will survive. I refuse to put you in that breed of danger. You may welcome death but you do not deserve it. You have so much promise, I know your world will brighten and life will become much better than it has been the past hundred years. Not just for you but for all of Narnia.   
  If I should die in battle, by the way, keep Su, Ed, and Lu safe for me. Look after them as I would. I cannot imagine what would happen if I were to lose them, even if I was already lost myself. I place my full trust in your abilities to protect and care for them.   
  As for yourself, enclosed is something I want you to keep. Do not try to reason with me on it. It’s a present for you. It belongs to you. Wear it so you will never forget me should I perish or should we one day part ways. You have imposed an incredible influence upon me and this is the least I could do to return the favor. It was no trouble so don’t fuss about me wasting energy on you. The fauns had scrap metal leftover from crafting the swords. They were more than happy to grant my request of forging this for you with the excess.   
   I apologize for not explaining all of this in person, Eilonwy. Please understand and forgive my cowardice. Quite hilarious how I’ll be charging into battle tomorrow morning and yet I cannot admit my feelings to a girl. Wish me luck tomorrow.   
   Your friend,   
       Peter Pevensie

  
   Clutching the note to her chest, Eilonwy sucked in a shaky breath and pressed her back to the bedframe. The pendant glimmered in the slatted sunlight and she hesitantly reached over to scoop it up and inspect. It was one of the most beautiful things she had ever had the pleasure of possessing. The metal cooled her hands in the spring heat, reminding her of the endless winter she had grown so accustomed to. Squeezing he eyes shut, she sighed and tightened her grip until the diadems imprinted her skin. A strange tightness suddenly overcame her chest and throat, her heart beating faster in fear of the reason. Her eyes darted around the room until she realized her vision had grown blurry and suddenly there was a wetness unlike sweat touching her cheeks. Nervous fingers rose to dab her eyes only for her to all at once realize what was happening: for the first time in nearly a hundred years, Eilonwy found herself crying. Truly, genuinely crying.   
   The moment she confirmed the discovery, all the tears she had suppressed for the past century came pouring out in a great, wailing flood. She compressed herself and tried to quiet her sobbing but to no avail. And so she sat in the quiet of her chambers, weeping hysterically until her throat was raw and dry and her eyes burned red and stung. As her tantrum came to an end, however, her immense sadness slowly evolved into something much grander, something innately purposeful. She wiped away the leftover tears with the back of her hand, sniffled back the congestion in her nose, and drew the pendant over her head before rising nobly with back straightened and chin held high. In that very moment, Eilonwy knew exactly what she was meant to do. She raced out of her tent without a second thought. Peter’s note rested idly on the ground.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

      “Ellie, dear, are you sure you want to do this?” Mrs. Beaver asked, utmost concern painting her face. She wrung her paws together uneasily as she squinted up at her adoptive daughter. The sun sat high in the sky above her, it’s rays casting an angelic glow about Eilonwy’s hair.

      Wiping the sweat from her brow, the huntress gave a definitive nod as she slid her winter boots on over her pants. Peter’s camp clothes hung loosely on her skeletal frame but it was nothing a little cinching couldn’t fix. After all, she needed the ease of motion. “I have to. I’ve a duty not only to myself, but to my country” she replied, sheathing her sword at her hip. She launched a wad of spit onto the surface of her helmet and polished it with her shirt hem until it gleamed in the morning light. Somehow, she found herself much more at ease decked out in armor, the feeling providing snippets of much-needed confidence. This was where she belonged, what she was meant to do. Her limbs tingled at the prospect of war. “I don’t want you to worry. I’ll be fine. Promise” she added in reassurance. A gentle hand skated down to lovingly cup Mrs. Beaver’s cheek.  
      The she-beaver whimpered at her endearing touch, nuzzling the palm of Eilonwy’s hand and holding it there a little while longer. “I know you will be, love. You always have had a taste for adrenaline” she jested in soft, bittersweet tones. The pair sat in silence for a moment more before Mrs. Beaver sucked in a deep breath and composed herself. “Well, on with you now. The troops have already left and you mustn’t lag too far behind” she said, patting Eilonwy on the knee. The huntress nodded, rising from her seat and sliding her helmet onto her head. With her face completely covered, she was scarcely recognizable. The initial anonymity flooded her with a reassuring sense of security. No one could tell her to return to camp if they didn’t know she was fighting in the first place.  
      Eilonwy bid Mrs. Beaver one last heartfelt goodbye, planting a quick kiss on her forehead, before racing off to the stables. At first glance, Everlast whinnied and stamped her hooves in hesitancy. It wasn’t until Eilonwy edged closer, cooing, and rested a hand upon the horse’s muzzle that she recognized her faithful rider. Moments later, the pair disappeared toward Beruna.   
      On the bank of the valley, a sea of Narnian soldiers prepared themselves for combat. Perched upon Everlast’s back, Eilonwy waded through the crowd of centaurs and fauns, all of which were male, in search of the perfect place to squeeze in. The presence of so many soldiers was comforting, and not just as a statement of patriotism. Among so many, Eilonwy was just another face in the crowd, another body on the battlefield. No one needed to know who she was or what her intentions were. It was bad enough she was disobeying Peter’s orders but now she was to do something even worse: disobey his battle commands.   
      At the front of the crowd, Peter sat stiffly upon Besnik, overlooking the opposing team. Their snarls and roars echoed across Beruna in a cacophony of horrifying music, sending a shiver down his spine.   
      “They come, your highness, in numbers and weapons far greater than our own” a gryphon accounted as he landed beside the knight.  
      “Numbers do not win a battle” Oreius reassured. He paid a minute glance to Peter, eyes stony and willful, as if his gaze alone could instill some confidence in the boy.   
      “No, but I bet they help…” he replied quietly. His heart pounded against the chain mail pressed to his chest, almost constricting him. His skin crawled as a small voice inside his head contemplated the repercussions of backing out, of simply surrendering and letting Jadis win without a fight. But then he remembered Aslan and the conversation they had upon the cliff. _I, too, want my family safe,_ he spoke, voice deep and magnificent. Narnia’s fate rested in Peter’s inexperienced hands. Even if he failed, he had to make an attempt. He had grown rather fond of this magical land in the short time he had spent there and additionally, was bestowed with the great responsibility to protect it as his mother assigned him to protect his siblings. The land and all who inhabited it were indebted to Peter as their protector and that truth both terrified and motivated him.  
      The crowd erupted in a hearty cheer as Jadis’s army roared and raced forward across the battlefield. Eilonwy’s heart instantly rose into her throat and she locked her eyes on the vision of Peter at the helm of the crowd, fully armored upon his steed. He was a completely different person and as he signaled the aerial attacks, she began to wonder if maybe she had misjudged him. Perhaps he truly was prepared for this. Perhaps he truly was strong enough for this.   
      “You seem nervous” a voice suddenly spoke, snapping the huntress from her thoughts.  
      “W-what?” she asked, whipping around to face it’s source. A faun stood beside her, no taller than herself on foot, radiating innocence in his cherubic face.   
      “You’re nervous. I can tell” he repeated. “I can see it in your stance, and now in your eyes. You’re scared.” Shifting upon Everlast, Eilonwy huffed and stammered a rebuttal. She didn’t take kindly to being accused of such weak traits, even if she knew deep down he was right.   
      The huntress paused, furrowing her brows a moment. She had spent so much time being cocky about her skills, yet she never stopped to consider her own inexperience. She may have been a master huntress but she was blind to the true perils of war. Everything she had ever learned could vanish from her brain in an instant due to none other than her own anxiety, than _too much_ adrenaline. Those godforsaken barriers she had cursed and spat at for so long had finally been destroyed but perhaps their erection was for the better. Now there was nothing protecting her form the danger racing towards her. She was utterly, completely on her own. Her only saving grace now was the oversized breast plate strapped to her chest and the sword at her side. In the coming hours, she could very well die and no one would bat an eyelash or make any effort to retrieve her corpse. She was just another face in the crowd, another body on the battlefield.   
      Peter clenched his palm around the hilt of his sword as he watched the battle commence before him. Rocks, like bombs, catapulted toward the ground, destroying anyone and anything in their path. Great, hulking giants and steadfast dwarves and ugly creatures Peter could scarcely describe raced toward him as if bursting from the frame of a terrible dream. It was in that moment that he thought to himself, _This must be what dad feels like_.   
      His time was running short and his opponents were coming ever nearer. There was no time left to retreat, to hide behind his own cowardice like a shy little boy. After all, Peter was no longer a little boy. Paying one last glance to the war before him, he turned to the broad-shouldered centaur adjacent. “Are you with me?”   
      “To the death” Oreius replied nobly. The faintest hint of a smile tugged at the corner of Peter’s lips for a nanosecond before returning his attention to the task at hand. At least if he had to die, he wouldn’t die alone.   
      Sucking in a deep breath, he raised his sword high above his head and shouted as loud as humanly possible, “For Narnia! And for Aslan!” His battle cry sent a wave of shivers down Eilonwy’s spine, clammy hands tightening their grip on Everlast’s mane. Besnik brayed and whinnied as he then galloped alongside Oreius into the battlefield, taking Peter with him. The other centaurs and all the fauns raised their spears and swords and hurrahed viciously, following their leader into the jaws of death. Whether she was ready or not, Eilonwy was swept along at the mercy of their current.   
      As both forces grew dangerously closer, both Peter and Eilonwy became deaf to all other worldly noises. The only sound penetrating their anxious concentration now was that of their pounding heartbeats, a privilege neither were sure they’d have the pleasure of for much longer. And then came the collision, a disgusting symphony of roars and whines and clanging metal effectively snapping everyone out of their trance. Now this was the real beginning of war, the real end of emotion and contemplation. This was the time of act and react, of fight and defend. This was the time life’s warranty expired. This was Beruna.   
      Automatically, Eilonwy was seized by an animalistic instinct she had only truly felt once before. All her doubts and fears vanished almost instantly. Whipping out her sword, she slashed at every opponent who crossed her path, blood splattering onto her sleeves and pants, her face, her armor. Her only focus now was the kill. The prime suspect: the witch herself.  
     Peter sped through the crowd on horseback, biting his lip to try and quell the endless array of thoughts strumming through his mind. He couldn’t shake the knowledge that he was _killing_ living things, creatures with lives and feelings and families. But he had a duty to uphold. He had revenge to seek. He had a job to do and he could not under any circumstances let his emotions get the best of him.   
      Perched upon her chariot, Jadis surveyed the scene before her with scrutiny and hunger. Her eyes shifted from the weak Narnians to the leader of their army, her grip tightening on her wand as she craved all the hurt she could burden upon him. Ginarrbrik, her henchman, stood beside her, peering over the edge for he was too short to see over the top. Jadis elbowed him harshly to capture his attention, murmuring in vile tones, “I have no interest in prisoners. Kill them all. Except the boy. The little king, I’ll take care of myself.” Ginarrbrik nodded once before hopping from the platform and into the crowd, bow and arrow at his side, prepared to fulfill his master’s wishes.   
      Wing of phoenix swooped low to scrape the earth, igniting a band of flame through the grass. Jadis’s wand sliced through the barrier with one swift wave. Peter cursed under his breath as he glanced at his men struggling. “Fall back! Draw them to the rocks!” he finally commanded. A horn’s blare echoed from the cliffs, sending a flurry of arrows raining down into the valley. As Peter rode along with the swarm, his steed’s hindquarters suddenly jolted and launched the young knight from his perch. His entire body slammed into the dirt with a harsh thud, soil smearing across his cheek, as he spluttered and fought to refocus his vision. Besnik brayed and whinnied, back legs faltering, as blood oozed from a pierce in his flank.   
      Eilonwy halted at the sight, a pang of pain striking her heart at the thought of Peter injured. Following the trajectory of the arrow, she squinted ferociously at a nasty little dwarf waddling from the cliff’s edge in maniacal laughter. Before she could seek revenge on the miscreant, however, the sound of an approaching chariot stole her attention and she immediately bolted out of the way.   
      As soon as Peter regained his footing, he whipped around to find Oreius, dual blades drawn as he galloped toward the White Witch. Peter could only remember the ensuing moments as hazy visions tearing at his heart. Jadis narrowed her eyes as the centaur grew nearer, hungry for his demise. Shouts of protest tangled in Peter’s throat as he watched helplessly from the sidelines, paralyzed. Just as Oreius swung his blade with a hearty battle cry, the thin blade of the witch’s wand impaled his chest and petrified him.   
      All around him, Narnians faced endless obliteration. Peter glanced frantically to what was left of his men, their decreased morale triggering an executive decision. “Edmund, there’s too many!” he called to his brother nearby. “Get out of here! Get the girls and get them home! All _three_ of them!”   
      Edmund cocked his head as he tried to deduce what Peter meant by _all three of them_ , counting in his head before realizing he meant Eilonwy as the extra. The knight knew what exactly what he was doing and suffered no remorse. Eilonwy belonged in Narnia but he didn’t care. No matter what, he was taking her back to England even if he didn’t live to see it through.   
      From across the way, Eilonwy struggled against a minotaur whose size alone expended much of her energy. Her endless swipes and jabs were miscalculated and ineffective, leaving her opponent to snatch her tiny wrist up in one of his massive claws. She squirmed in his grip through grunts and shouts but the monster was far too strong and she ceased to break free. With a flick of his wrist, he twisted her arm behind her back and kicked her to the ground. Blood dribbled down her chin as her teeth sank into her lower lip, wheezing from the impact of the slam against her breast. Her helmet tumbled into a dip in the dirt, mangled braid swinging down from the nape of her neck, as she turned glaring toward the minotaur to reveal her face. He paused a moment, taken aback by his opponent’s surprise identity, before smirking and swinging at her once again. Eilonwy frantically regrouped, rolling onto her back to kick the minotaur in the chest. Her leverage sent him stumbling backwards, aghast, as she forced herself to her feet and slashed at him til his dark fur was sticky with blood.   
      Amidst her approach toward Peter, Jadis caught sight of the young soldier in her periphery and identified Eilonwy at once. A disgusting satisfaction coursed through her veins as she redirected her wrath. It would be the perfect bookend to a hundred year punishment. She didn’t dare give up the chance.   
      Blood smeared across Eilonwy’s brow as she wiped the sweat and tendrils of hair from her face. Her chest rose and fell tumultuously, basking in a rare morsel of respite. There was no time to breathe, however. As she pressed her back against a boulder, her eyes focused in on the devil herself barrelling toward her, eyes ablaze with the hunger for death.   
      As Edmund scaled the rock formations in retreat, he caught sight of the scene below and something inside him twitched.   
      “Peter said ‘get out of here’!” Mr. Beaver shouted, motioning toward camp. However, the youngest Pevensie brother wasn’t listening.   
      “Yeah, well Peter’s not king yet!” he retorted, drawing his sword. Without wasting another second, he darted back into the valley with desperate purpose.   
      Genuine terror engulfed the huntress as Jadis’s gaze paralyzed her. It was as if in that instant, she was a child again, cold and confused in Cair Paravel’s parlor. The repressed emotions of the past century washed over her in a fit of tremors and stolen breath. This was the end.   
      “What a pleasant surprise it is running into you again!” Jadis cooed. “I’m rather shocked to find you on the battlefield considering you’ve always been all talk and no action.” Eilonwy’s fingers itched at her sides, desperate to rip this woman to shreds, but her hands refused to move. Her throat tightened, trapping any verbal rebuttals deep within her chest. The witch smirked and as she raised her wand, Eilonwy swore she was staring into the very depths of her soul. She had never felt more vulnerable and stripped down and afraid. Her breathing grew faster and deeper, eyes squeezed shut as she prepared to meet the cold hand of death but before Jadis could end her, the cry of another posed as distraction.   
      Everything happened so quickly. A menacing grunt rose from deep within Jadis’s throat, disappearing behind the clatter of clashing swords. By the time Eilonwy realized she was not yet dead and creaked open her eyes, she was immediately blinded by the most brilliant blue light. A searing sound, like shards of glass on tile, pierced everyone’s ears and captivated their attention. Jadis stood shellshocked for only a moment before her numbness transformed into pure rage. Edmund’s sword flung from his grip and before he could counteract, the sharp point of the severed wand stabbed the boy in the stomach and Edmund fell to the ground in defeat.   
      Eilonwy choked back tears as she watched this boy she barely even knew gasp and grapple for life before her eyes. Satisfied with her kill, Jadis whipped around to face her next target but was then distracted by yet another intruder.   
      _“Edmund!”_  
      The pained shout rang throughout the entire valley as an indomitable rage swelled from deep within Peter’s chest. He could barely contain his angst as he raced toward the witch, slaughtering anyone who dare cross his path. The moment he grew close enough, he slashed at Jadis’s neck and began the most violent altercation he could ever imagine. All concerns of what came of killing completely vanished. Now things were personal.   
      Clashing swords rung in Eilonwy’s ears, forcing her to smother her head in her arms as her knees faltered and she sank to the ground. Perhaps her father was right. Perhaps she wasn’t prepared for the heat of battle. She should’ve listened to him while she still had the chance. Yet if she had, things would be different. Things would be bleaker and less promising. If she had listened to what everyone told her to do her entire life, she never would’ve fulfilled what she was now sure was her destiny. Her heart pounded in her chest as she watched Peter duel Jadis, every swing of the blade further fueling her adrenaline until all fear began to slowly transform into something haunting and electric.  Just as she shifted on all fours to pounce, however, the most glorious sound captured her attention and for a moment, all of time stood still.  
      An irrefutable roar echoed across the valley, drawing everyone to the highest cliff of Beruna. There, fur glimmering in the sunlight, stood the great lion himself. Eilonwy was dumbfounded, yet a strange sort of happiness flooded every vein in her body and she couldn’t help but grin. Somehow, Aslan had been revived. The magnificent beast had returned and behind followed a welcome refreshment. Familiar faces infiltrated the crowd and pounded back against the opposing current, knocking dwarves off their feet and pummeling cyclops with a sheer force fueled by faith.   
      Jadis was not stupid and though starstruck for but a moment, she took advantage of Peter’s distraction and swung her blade when he wasn’t looking. A gasp escaped his lips as he turned to find her sword mere inches from his face, certain of his death, yet Jadis’s plans were suddenly intercepted by that of another.   
      “Stay your blade” Eilonwy spat, staring back at the witch with utmost conviction. Peter could hardly speak at the sight of her, both enraged at her disobedience and relieved by her heroism.   
      “You know, Eilonwy, you really oughtn’t inject yourself into matters tht don’t concern you!” Jadis shouted over the clanging of their metal. This time, however, Eilonwy didn’t retreat.  
      “This has always concerned me!” she shouted back, taking another swing.   
      “No, it doesn’t!” Peter interrupted. Regrouping, he tightened his grip on his hilt and shoved Eilonwy out of the way. “I thought I told you to stay back at the camp!”   
      “Yeah, well, people tell me to do lots of things!” Eilonwy screamed back, shoving Peter back out of the way in turn.   
      “You deliberately disobeyed me!” Peter shouted. Jadis glared at the pair, all their of their blades intersecting with a horrendous clang.   
      “I don’t care!” Eilonwy screamed but before she could finish, was interrupted by the taunting shouts of the witch herself.  
      “Oh, this is adorable! The little princess is in love with the little king! Excuse me, please, while I vomit!” Jadis shrieked. The pair retorted with a unanimous “Shut up!” before returning to the matters at hand.   
      “You had no right to keep me from participating when you knew I was fully capable!” Eilonwy countered.  
      “I’m afraid Peter was right, dear! The battlefield is no place for little princesses!” Jadis interrupted yet again. Before Eilonwy could rebuke, the witch lunged forward and seized Eilonwy’s arm, twisting her into a contorted hold. The young girl gasped as the cold steel of her blade pressed against her neck, Jadis’s spindly hand tugging her hair.  Peter stared dumbfounded for a split second before raising his sword to fight back, but Jadis yanked Eilonwy’s head back and hissed, “One step closer and I’ll end it all!”   
      Peter paused, sapphire eyes locked on the steel nearly slicing into Eilonwy’s neck. A flash of the possible paralyzed him, the vision of blood streaming from her neck as his dear friend fell to the ground convulsing. He knew what would come of fighting back, but he had no idea what would happen if he didn’t. Before he could make a decision, Eilonwy chose for him.   
      Something was building inside her in those moments held hostage. In a snap, she sucked in a deep breath and elbowed Jadis in the stomach, knocking the breath from her and loosening her grip just enough to break free. Stealing Rhindon from Peter’s hand, Eilonwy shoved the knight out of the way and swung the blade bravely toward the witch’s throat. However, Jadis was quick, fluidly ducking out of the way and slashing Eilonwy’s waist in turn. Blood poured from the wound, a despicable wail breaking from Eilonwy’s lips as her hand flew to her side and she fell to her knees.   
      Now Peter was doubly pissed. The moment he regained his footing, he swooped down to retrieve Rhindon and channeled all his strength. He refused to lose both his brother and his beloved in the same day on the same field.   
      Eilonwy’s vision blurred as she scooted away from the prime danger, hand pressed to her waist in hopes of halting the bleeding. Her insides shredded apart, a throaty moan echoing from her lips as her face drained of color and her lungs gasped for air. As she knelt there in the grass watching Peter fight for her, however, she felt something else, as well. Something new and strange yet comforting. She wanted Peter’s touch. She yearned for him to come nearer, for all the danger to fade, to be cradled in his arms and given the affection she had for so long resisted. Maybe it was the promise of death weighing heavily on her senses, she never could be quite sure, but in those hazy moments she was positive she had truly fallen in love with him.  
      With steadfast motions, Peter struggled against the witch’s stamina and strategy. She moved with quick purpose, motions sharp and calculated. Her blade collided with his with a horrendous clang, knocking Rhindon from the young knight’s grip and seizing the hilt in her free hand. Unarmed, Peter was much less of a threat and as she pummeled him to the ground, he became even less. A pained shout rang from his lips as she stabbed his shoulder, pinning him to the earth. His shield could only do so much to protect him but as he gazed up into the witch’s unforgiving eyes, he found his limbs grow heavy and his heart rate quicken. A hoarse scream erupted from Eilonwy and for a moment, she didn’t even recognize her own voice. She stumbled closer in desperation despite immeasurable weakness, slamming into the ground and wheezing, “No! St-stop! Please…don’t…!”   
      Jadis stood over the knight with his own blade in hand, prepared to strike, but before doing so, turned her gaze to Eilonwy with a sickening grin. “Say farewell to your precious prince” she cooed. Her villainous gaze remained locked on the huntress as she swung Rhindon over her head and the blade plummeted towards Peter’s chest. A wail rose up in Eilonwy’s throat as she watched the blade slam downward, tip grazing the velvet of Peter’s tunic. It was in that nanosecond that the huntress simultaneously realized the pounding in her ears was not quite her heartbeat and in an instant, everything was teeth and claws. With a magnificent growl and one fatal lunge, everything ended.


	16. Chapter Fifteen

      Peter tore the blade from his shoulder and jumped to his feet immediately. All the soldiers passing by blurred in his peripheral vision, fading into thin air until all that remained were their echoed battle cries. Peter paid no mind to their evaporation, however. Instead, his eyes remained locked on the strange, poetic scene before him. The beast turned, blood dripping from his mouth, and said in the calmest of voices, “It is finished.” 

     A bizarre sense of relief washed over Peter at Aslan’s words, as if they were the official epilogue of such a ruthless battle. Then, with a minute nod of his head, the lion motioned towards Eilonwy’s body crumpled on the ground and Peter instantly snapped from his daze.   
      “E-Eilonwy!” he shouted, rushing to her side. Her body was limp and her skin pale and clammy as he lifted her in his arms. Though weak, she forced herself to her feet but clung to Peter for support, spluttering then sloppily swiping the blood dribbling down her chin. “Oh, Eilonwy, look at me! Just hang on! Please, Eilonwy!” Peter begged. His heart beat faster and faster at the sight of her, desperate not to let her slip away.   
      She sucked in a few deep breaths, trying to revive her lungs to functioning, before furrowing her brows at Peter in utmost offense. “Qu-quit your blubbering, I’m p-perfectly fine” she stammered, a soft smile gracing her lips. She may have been knocked down but she certainly wasn’t dead. Yet.   
“B-but your waist…!” Peter protested. His hand skated down to the gash at her side, blood slipping from the wound to stain his shirt. Eilonwy shuddered at his touch, his palm warm and comforting, but she didn’t have the strength to shoo him away. Nor did she really want to.   
      “Oh, shut it. It’s j-just a flesh wound” Eilonwy replied with a roll of her eyes. Though Peter wasn’t entirely convinced of her wellbeing, hearing her everpresent sarcasm fed him hope. With a light chuckle, he pulled her close and hugged her tightly. While it was everything she secretly wanted, a hug so tight wasn’t exacly the best cure for a wound as severe as hers. At the sound of her wince, Peter quickly broke the embrace and muttered a sheepish apology. His cheeks burned bright red and a smile tugged at the corners of his lips; Eilonwy couldn’t help but think how adorable he was.   
      The couple’s intimate celebration was quickly cut short, however, when Susan and Lucy rushed into the scene. The littlest Pevensie surged forward to smother her brother in a massive embrace, overjoyed to find him relatively unharmed. Susan, however, was preoccupied with much more pressing matters.   
      Ice blue eyes immediately darted to the lion nearby, catching a glimpse of the witch’s remains behind him. The sight sent a shudder down Susan’s spine as she returned her attention to her family and friend before noticing there was something amiss. Breath hitching in her throat, she asked in a panic, “Where’s Edmund?!”  
      Without a moment of hesitation, the trio blazed through the battlefield with panicked purpose. And there Edmund lay, dirt and blood smudged on his face, skin washed clear of all color, wheezing for every last breath. Grunting profusely, Ginarrbrik waddled over his body waving an ax, steadying his aim so as to kill the kid once and for all. Insulted by the creature’s plans, Susan immediately felled him with perfect aim before skidding into the grass beside her dying brother.  
      Peter was spellbound. He had spent so long trying to protect Edmund and he still failed, his eyes welling with tears at the sorry sight. Susan tore his helmet off and tossed it into the dirt, resting Edmund’s head on her lap and brushing the hair from his face. The eldest frantically glanced from his brother to his baby sister as she tore the cap from her cordial and carefully poured one tiny drop to Edmund’s lips. His gasping paused. His brow furrowed. His parted lips met. Peter couldn’t breathe.  
      Edmund remained horribly quiet and deathly still for what felt like centuries. Susan’s throat constricted as she tried to restrain her tears, running her fingers through his ebony hair and praying for a miracle. Lucy tried her hardest to remain strong but the terror overtook her and she was inevitably seized by a despicable wail. Her little hand grasped  Edmund’s and tugged it close against her heart as if her grip alone could revive him where her cordial failed. Peter, however, was the most broken of all. Images of the night raids back home and how nasty he had been began replaying on a loop in his brain. All those times he had shoved and shouted and scolded his brother, trying so hard to be the father that was no longer there. Now look what he had done. He had failed as a father, a brother, and a friend. He would never forgive himself for as long as he lived, and even after if there was such a thing.  
      Edmund’s chest tensed, a weak cough breaking past his lips. His eyes creaked open, squinting into the sunlight, as he forced his vision to focus on the figures looming over him. The dormancy in his veins subsided, replaced by a sudden current of blood flow that nearly made him dizzy. Soon his boyish blush had returned to his freckled cheeks. A resounding happiness reverberated through the quartet, bouncing between the girls in a swell of love and laughter. Peter could hardly believe his eyes, his lungs forgetting how to function for a moment as he tugged Edmund into the tightest hug humanly possible. Hot tears rolled down the knight’s cheeks and fell into the crevice between his chin and Edmund’s neck. Then, he pulled away to view his brother’s face and uttered with a teary laugh, “When are you going to learn to do as your told?” A simple smile graced Edmund’s lips as the four piled into a mess of entangled limbs and grins and elation.   
      Eilonwy trudged closer, gripping onto the rock formations nearby as support. A warmth filled her heart as she played audience to the Pevensies’ rejoice and suddenly all her reservations about the prophecy vanished. For so long she resented the future monarchs before she even met them, yet now she had faith that the four before her were satisfactory replacements to those who came before them. Yet it wasn’t just faith that touched her in that moment. There was an inkling of something else, as well. Something which tugged at her chest and tingled in her brain. Perhaps they were more than just new royalty. Perhaps, though she knew it was impossible, but perhaps they were even contenders for family. A new family filled with hope and love and acceptance. A family not by blood but by choice. Her heart sang at the possibility.  
      Edmund suddenly caught sight of the hunched figure in his peripheral vision, then heard the soft padding of paws as the great lion approached. Awe-stricken, they watched as Aslan smiled to the siblings then turned to Eilonwy, ushering her closer as if he knew her thoughts. After all she’d been through, she didn’t dare refuse. As she stumbled closer, Peter rushed to her side, followed by all of his siblings who wrapped her in their arms comfortingly. Everything at once seemed brighter and clearer, as if their hug was symbolic of unconditional acceptance and thanks. She returned the favor and buried her face in their hair, tears welling in her eyes. For the first time in a long time, she finally felt as if she belonged.  
      The longer they hugged, the quicker Lucy grew aware of the blood spilling from Eilonwy’s waist. A gasp of horror caught in her throat and she immediately whipped her cordial from her side. The huntress sighed, her energy fading once more, and shifted her weight against Peter. Before he had time to react, Lucy was on tiptoes angling the bottle to her lips. In a matter of moments, Eilonwy coughed and felt her strength slowly return, the pain in her waist subsiding. Peter grinned, overjoyed to see her cured, and all three of his siblings immediately caught the outpour of love spilling from inside him. It was a very different kind of love than he felt toward them, a distinct and longing sort of affection that only Susan recognized immediately. Though her and Eilonwy hadn’t always been the best of friends, she saw in her brother just how much he really cared for her and that in and of itself was enough to convince her of Eilonwy’s worth.   
      A low growl rang from Aslan’s chest, ushering everyone’s attention toward him. He spoke not a word as he turned to a soldier petrified in stone and with a soft breath, thawed him. Instantly, Lucy was filled with wonderful purpose. She glanced fondly to her cordial before gathering her skirts and rushing to every injured Narnian she could find. Her siblings and friend watched with nothing but fondness as she conducted her healing, both of physical and emotional practice. As Eilonwy admired the girl’s integrity, however, she suddenly became overly aware of Peter’s hand still firmly at her hip. She glanced to him with inflamed cheeks and he quickly averted his eyes and distanced himself. Deep down, though, a part of her wanted him to stay. She wanted him to keep supporting her, keep holding her close so she could feel his steady breath on her neck and soft touch on her skin. She wanted it but knew it was wrong, or at least now that she was no longer on the brink of death. A tiny sliver of her wished she had died. That way, she would never have to face what happened next for she knew from this point forward, the future was hazy and that haze was even more terrifying than facing the White Witch herself.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

      Aslan’s camp bustled with creatures of every walk of life packing for the long journey ahead. Tents were dismantled and folded neatly to fit into packs. Furniture was taken apart and reassembled like puzzle pieces into blocks loaded into baskets on the backs of centaurs. The Pevensies helped as best they could but most of Aslan’s soldiers refused to let them lift a finger. They were kings and queens now. They had greater responsibilities ahead. 

      In the solace of her tent, Eilonwy stuffed her satchel with leftover clothing and snacks. Her cloak was draped over the bed, her box beside it. She gently grazed the scrying stone and a small smile flashed upon her lips. She thought of her parents, of what they would think of their little girl now. Her father would be so proud. He was so adverse to her fighting alongside him but now she knew why. Battles truly were ugly affairs but she had survived nonetheless. Her fingers grazed the site of her stab wound and a shiver ran down her spine. Despite Lucy’s healing, the cordial could only do so much and a scar still remained as a reminder of her injury.   
      A sudden rustling stirred her from her thoughts and Eilonwy whipped around to see none other than Peter at the entry. The moment she laid eyes on him, she was seized with the most awful feeling she had ever been subjected to. It was as if every morsel of strange affliction she had faced their entire journey had morphed into one massive wave of panic and nausea. The expression on his face remained blank as he waded forward and she half expected him to yell at her now that they were out of combat. Instead, he remained silent, fingers grazing her cloak as he skated forward. Eilonwy’s heart leapt into her throat at his sensual approach.  
      When he finally stopped, they stared at each other for a long while in silence. There was a strange look in his eye that she couldn’t quite pinpoint, but feared it was either rage or lust. If she looked at him any longer, she was certain she was going to explode and so, sucking in a deep breath, she averted her eyes and returned to her work. Peter paused a moment to watch her before sighing softly and lowering his head. “How, uh…how is your hip?” he asked quietly.   
      “Fine, thanks” she whispered back. What might have been construed as a shortness in her tone was simply the poor translation of trying to manage a whirlwind of emotions and her heart sped up at the thought of him thinking otherwise. She could feel him staring as she sloppily folded her garments, the pair slipping into yet another silence. She wanted him to just walk away, to leave her be, so she could finish packing but couldn’t find the words to tell him. His presence was maddening, though, and quickly Eilonwy found herself engulfed by an onset of rage. “Alright, Peter, did you come here for a reason or are you just going to stand there and ogle at me?”   
      Though taken aback by the outburst, Peter retained composure to the best of his ability and replied, “As a matter of fact, I came to ask you something.” When Eilonwy ceased to give him her full attention, he pressed his hand against hers to halt her folding and force her to look him in the eyes. Her stomach flipped, mind flashing back to that godforsaken dream. They stared in silence a moment longer before Peter finally asked, “Why did you go into battle against my wishes?”   
      Eilonwy’s vulnerable gaze quickly hardened before she broke eye contact. “I had a duty to both myself and my country. It’s not like I need your permission anyways. It was my choice.”   
      “You could’ve died out there!” Peter rebuked.  
      “It was my choice!” Eilonwy repeated. Her words sent a shock of recognition through Peter’s veins before he stepped back and nodded slowly.   
      “I suppose you’re right. It was your choice, but that still doesn’t mean I’m happy about it” he murmured.  
      “Well, if that’s the way you feel about it, then fine” Eilonwy spat back bitterly. Again, silence. Peter watched on a few moments more before shaking his head and slowly turning toward the exit. Just before he left, however, his note fell out of one of her pockets. Her breath hitched, clutching the necklace to her chest. It had stayed around her neck during the entirety of the battle. “P-Peter…” she choked out.   
      Peter paused at the wavering in her voice, turning back to face her. His eyes immediately landed on the note. His heart raced in his chest.  
      “W-what…I mean, did…did you really mean everything you said…in this note…?” she asked quietly. It took all her strength to keep her hands from trembling atop the parchment.   
      Straightening his back, Peter nodded once, expression hard and serious. The huntress nearly lost her footing, knees going weak. Without a word, Peter turned and exited the tent.   
      Satchel over her shoulder and sword at her hip, Eilonwy exited her tent with utmost purpose. Her ears caught a hint of conversation between the Pevensies and the Beavers nearby, voices echoing through the valley.   
      “…and we’ll set aside a room just for you and you can get breakfast every morning and you’ll never have to worry about wolves tearing apart your home ever again…!” Lucy gushed joyously. Mrs. Beaver rung her hands together in uncertainty.  
      “Oh, well I don’t know, dear. Are you sure we won’t be taking up space?” Mrs. Beaver inquired.  
“Of course not! We’d love for you to stay” Susan replied. A warm smile touched her lips. Everyone could tell she was pleased the war was finally over and though not yet crowned, the title of queen fit her rather well already.   
      Just then, Mr. Beaver glanced over his shoulder to spy his adopted daughter trotting down the path. With a gasp and a “Heya, Ellie!”, he rushed her way and grasped her hand. “Where do you think you’re heading?”   
      His wife and the future kings and queens followed close behind with a unanimous expression of curiosity. Only Peter averted his eyes and kept his distance.  
      “I’m not sure yet. But wherever it is, it ought to be far away from here” Eilonwy replied.   
      “Oh, do come back to the castle with us, Eilonwy! Come on, Eilonwy, please! Pretty please?” Lucy begged, grabbing the huntress’s hand and shaking it like a toy. She looked up at the maiden with desperate, pleading eyes. How could Eilonwy ever defy such a face?  
      “Ellie, you might as well, dear. You surely can’t go back to Beaversdam” Mrs. Beaver elaborated. “Heaven knows the place is in shambles!”   
      “I don’t need a home to return to, you know. I can do just fine on my own. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go retrieve Everlast and be on my way” Eilonwy said firmly. As she broke free of Lucy’s grasp, the youngest Pevensie watched her depart in defeat. Lucy knew there was no way to make Eilonwy stay but she had hoped after all they’d been through, her opinion might’ve been different. By now, she considered the huntress like another sister, one far less proper and well-mannered than Susan. After everything they had all been through together, Lucy almost expected to come along.   
      As Eilonwy sauntered away, a strange hand grasped her wrist and sent her on another tirade. “Listen, I’ve already made my decision and I’m not–!” she began before she was met with an unexpected face. Staring back at her was none other than Edmund, the mended traitor. Immediately she softened, mustering her composure before asking, “Well?”   
      “Listen, I know I’ve been gone for much of the time you’ve spent with my brother and sisters but I know I can safely say I agree with them on this. You’ve helped them this entire time and even fought alongside us against the witch. The least we can do is offer you a place to stay, even if only for a while. We think, well at least I think, that you deserve it” he explained. There was something about his tone, the sincerity and subjectivity of it, that finally made her start to reconsider.   
      Sunlight glimmered on the Fords of Beruna as an army of war-weary soldiers trudged along it’s banks. Aslan headed the group, the Pevensie’s close behind. And somehow, just behind them, Eilonwy found herself. She gripped Everlast’s mane tightly as she surveyed the scenery, trying to distract herself from thinking too much about what she was really doing. She swore to herself she never wanted to see Cair Paravel again and after a hundred years, she thought she never would. Yet now here she was venturing back to her old home alongside the new kings and queens, her parents’ replacements. The irony was nauseating.   
      She watched as the four Pevensies rode on horseback before her, studying their every move and detail. The closer they came to Cair Paravel, the more she could see them upon the thrones her parents and ancestors once sat upon. Though only days had passed, they had grown so much since she first met them. Peter was no longer a boy but a seasoned knight, Edmund a mended traitor, Lucy a valiant friend, and Susan had all the grace of the queens who preceded her. She remembered how weak and scared they all seemed the first night she met them, shivering in mink coats alongside the generous Beavers. She wondered what became of Mink, if he ever made it out alive. Knowing him, Eilonwy was sure he must’ve had a heart attack at the onset of spring after all his ramblings. As her mind flashed back to their first meeting, however, something curious rang in Eilonwy’s brain that she suddenly felt desperate for an explanation to.   
      “Um, Susan…?” she asked, sidling up to the queen. “When we first met, you and Lucy mentioned something about a story with my name in it…?”   
      “That’s right!” Lucy interrupted. “I asked you if you were a mermaid!”   
      Eilonwy nodded to the littlest Pevensie, a soft smile touching her lips. “Susan, do you think…well, would you mind telling me what it’s about? It’s a story from your world, yeah?”   
      Susan nodded. “Yes, from a book called Celtic Folklore. It was originally all in Welsh before it was translated but there’s a girl in it named Eilonwy who tried to drown herself upon hearing of her mother’s death. However, she didn’t actually die. She was saved by the bravest knight in all the land and he carried her away and married her, but she fled shortly after though I don’t quite remember the reason why, if there was any. It’s actually a pretty great story from what I can remember of it, though. My mum used to read it to me when I was little” she explained. By now, a sullen smile had formed on her face, and Lucy’s, too. There was a palpable sadness surrounding not only the sisters but their brothers, as well.   
      “I guess you have rather fond memories of your mum” Eilonwy croaked.   
      “I miss her terribly” Susan replied. Eilonwy nodded, instantly sympathizing. She, too, greatly missed her mother, even if they didn’t get along very well. Truthfully, Eilonwy was beginning to miss all of her family members more than ever. Seeing the Pevensie’s close bond made her heart ache for what could’ve been. If only she hadn’t been so stubborn, so brute, and if only her sisters and mother hadn’t been so prim and judgmental. Perhaps they were always destined to be a family of broken bonds but that didn’t soften the blow. As Aslan’s army neared Cair Paravel, the weight of Eilonwy’s grief only grew heavier, as did her anxiety. There was no telling what may await her behind those castle doors but she knew soon she would be forced to find out.   
      As the drawbridge creaked open, Cair Paravel welcomed the newcomers into it’s abandoned majesty. The castle was laden with ivy and bugs from years of vacancy and a thick layer of dust coated everything inside.   
      “This isn’t exactly the kind of palace we expected” Edmund commented as he ran his finger along the mantle.   
      As he trotted inside, Oreius explained, “It has been many years since Cair Paravel has been taken care of properly. It will need some tender love and care but with a little dusting and upkeep, I’m sure it will be fit for your majesties.”   
      The moment Eilonwy stepped through the main doors, she was instantly overtaken by an intense nostalgia. She could picture every mural, every ornate and monotonous detail, as if it was as clean and fresh as the day she last saw it. Even beneath the mildew and must she could still smell the same faintly sweet aroma that wafted through the halls in her youth. Her stomach churned.   
      Crews of Aslan’s men swarmed the castle in the following days to ensure the entire place was as spotless and perfect as it should be. The lion led the siblings through the hustle and bustle to the residential suites, allowing the Pevensies to pick their bedrooms and submit special requests for anything they may desire for their chambers. Once cleaned, the rooms were gorgeous with marble flooring and detailed paintings on the walls. Lucy immediately bounded into her bed to indulge in the softest sheets and coziest mattress she had ever had the pleasure of sleeping upon. Susan was much more concerned with how large the wardrobe was and grew increasingly excited about the fittings for her coronation gown. Edmund was rather fond of the bookshelf and as for Peter, he simply enjoyed the view.  
      Eilonwy trudged down the hallway toward her old bedroom, a small part of her hoping to at least be permitted to stay in the same chamber. Creaking the door open, she peeked inside only to be flooded with an onslaught of nostalgia. Her bed was exactly as it had always been, sheets moth-eaten and faded yet still messily in tact like she always kept it. Even her old dresses remained piled in her drawers, some still stained with grime and mud. If she closed her eyes, she could picture everything just the way it once was: her father in his study, her sisters drinking tea in the parlor, Sir Rolf in the courtyard sparring with an unfortunate and under-talented faun. Everything hit her so harshly, she stumbled and hugged her bedpost for support. Cair Paravel was nothing but a memorial to everything she had ever loved, everything that was brutally snatched away from her, a life that was no longer hers to live.   
      It wasn’t long before the castle was returned to it’s previous splendor, becoming even more beautiful as preparations for the grand coronation were under way. The Pevensies were barely given a moment to let everything sink in, being rushed from one task to the next. Fittings and rehearsals flurried through their brains like the snow that once coated the country.  
      “Alright, Pevensies! Come along!” Tumnus announced one morning with a clap of his hands. Peter had just opened his mouth to speak before the faun interrupted, his eyes focused in Eilonwy’s direction. Before he could say anything, however, he was whisked away with his siblings to the doorway. What he wanted to say was that he was sorry they hadn’t had a moment to speak privately since their arrival, that he was sorry everything was so hectic and that he understood how difficult returning to the Cair must have been for her but that he was there if she needed a friend. He wanted to say so many things but even if he was given the chance, he wasn’t quite sure if the words would make it past his lips. Eilonwy understood, though. Peter was a king now, or at least he was going to be. He had much more important duties than her petty personal problems. She would make do on her own, just like she always did.    
      Despite Eilonwy’s rough, independent exterior, she was truly faltering beneath the weight of everything. Most anyone would expect her to have trouble adjusting, whether they knew her backstory or not. She didn’t exactly come off as royalty. The most perceptive of all, however, was Aslan. The morning before the coronation, Eilonwy stood upon the balcony where her sisters had tea on warm spring afternoons. She twirled the steam of a flower around her finger and bit her lip as if she was deeply concentrating on the ocean below. The soft padding of paws wasn’t enough to capture her attention, so Aslan resorted to clearing his throat but rather than releasing a soft, throaty noise, the lion instead produced what ended up becoming a low but benign growl. Eilonwy jumped at the suddenness of it, whipping around with widened eyes to find the beast beside her. “Oh, it’s you” she muttered breathlessly.   
      “You seem troubled, dear one” Aslan stated with a tilt of his head. The huntress hadn’t quite expected such a blunt delivery but she couldn’t deny the truth in his words. “Walk with me a while” he then requested. It was an offer Eilonwy didn’t dare refuse.   
      Having never been quite so intimate with the lion before, the maiden became uneasy, fearful of not of him physically but mentally. Aslan was a god. He knew everything about everything and everything about everyone. There was nothing one could hide from him. He knew things about Eilonwy that she herself wasn’t even aware of and that was the most terrifying thing of all to her.   
      “Cair Paravel is more than just a place for you, is it not?” he began. Eilonwy nodded acutely. “You have seen things here that would only ever haunt anyone else’s worst nightmares, and yet you still returned. Why?”   
      Truthfully, Eilonwy herself wasn’t even exactly sure of the answer. She thought for a moment, strolling slowly alongside the magnificent beast, before replying cautiously, “Because something told me to, I suppose.”   
      “It is a voice deep within you that speaks from fathoms unimaginable” Aslan said matter-of-factly. “It’s been a while since you have heard that voice, yes?” Eilonwy nodded again. “That is because that is the sound of your heart. For so long you have only been concerned with what your head has to say, and your trials have hardened your heart and left it cold and mute. And rightly so, for it is a natural response anyone who has faced great tragedy would emit. Yet, unlike everyone else, you were given a great opportunity. An opportunity to change” Aslan explained.  
      “I suppose I do feel a bit different…” Eilonwy mumbled. “Though it’s not like I want to! I was doing perfectly fine on my own, you know!”   
      “I know, dear one” Aslan chuckled. “Your independence is a phenomenal quality for survival, yet one cannot live a life alone. Sooner or later, everyone needs to know someone cares.”   
      “But what about the Beavers–?”   
      “The Beavers care plenty, dear one. But they are simply Beasts. You have made many allies through your years in the wood but none of them have been of your kind. Now that you have been granted the blessing of human interaction, you have changed for the better” Aslan explained.  
      “For the better, my ass” the huntress muttered under her breath. She couldn’t possibly deny the changes she’s noticed within her but “for the better” was pushing it. If anything, she felt even more in pain now than she used to. Human interaction didn’t grant her happiness. It granted her feelings.   
      “Do not be so quick to downgrade the importance of human alliance” Aslan rebuked. “You have forged bonds these past few days that will never be broken and with it will come a great deal of happiness.”   
      “That’s impossible. I’m immune to happiness” Eilonwy retorted. It was as if Aslan had completely forgotten her curse, her horrible fate of an eternity void of joy. However, the lion shook his head and smiled.   
      “You seem to have misunderstood the magic of your circumstance, Daughter of Eve” he said. “The magic behind those apples is extremely complex and if the White Witch had interpreted them correctly, perhaps your punishment would not have seemed so bleak. Do you know the story of the Tree of Protection, dear one?”   
      “Of course” Eilonwy replied flippantly. “You planted the seeds of a magic apple tree into the ground and from it came another tree that was supposed to keep the White Witch out forever but obviously you failed.”   
      “Do not be so quick to judge” Aslan added with a shake of his paw, “for you do not know the full story and I am not surprised you do not. Over the years, the truth has been stretched and bent and the real story has been lost to those who were there to see it happen. The Tree of Protection, in fact, was planted by a young Son of Adam. I assigned him to retrieve the seeds for me from a special tree in an orchard upon a hill far off into the west. This tree housed the very same apples you and the White Witch had eaten yet their results differ upon the circumstances of their harvest. Upon the gates of that orchard read a poem:

     "You did not steal nor did you trespass, correct?” Aslan asked. Eilonwy nodded slowly. “If the White Witch had heeded the warnings on the garden’s gate, she may not have faced such a tragic fate herself. She had long ago stolen an apple from that very tree to feed her own selfish desires, and while she got exactly what she had asked for, she was also granted tremendous despair in the process. For you, dear one, your circumstance was not of such malice. Though Jadis hired someone to fetch the apple for her, neither her nor the hag who stole it succumbed to the greedy pleasures of it’s fruit. As the apple you ate had not been picked and eaten by yourself, you were not burdened with the consequential despair of it’s curse. Whatever tragedy befell you afterwards was merely coincidental” the lion explained.  
      By now, Eilonwy had halted completely and was utterly dumbstruck by the words which had left the lion’s lips. For so many years, she had lived in quiet suffering because she believed that to be her fate. It was true she spent many of those years afflicted by her own grief at the loss of her family yet anything afterwards she had always blamed on her curse. Now, however, her entire perception was altered. She no longer needed to live a life of misfortune and solitude. She was finally free of the shackles that she never knew had never actually constricted her. An infectious joy began coursing through her veins like nothing she had ever felt before. It enveloped her arms and legs, her fingers and toes all the way down to the nails. It filled her so greatly that she was sure she would nearly explode from the sensation of it. Tears brimmed at her eyes as she squealed and without any reservation, wrapped her arms around the lion’s neck and buried her face in his thick mane.   
      After a few moments of pure celebration, a thought then suddenly sprang into Eilonwy’s head. As she slowly pulled away from the lion, she asked, “Wait, what did you say of those who eat the apple? Not illegally, I mean. If they aren’t given despair, then what do they get…?” Deep down, she knew the answer but she wanted confirmation from the great lion himself.  
      “Those who are presented the fruit and eat it are given not only immortality and health but their heart’s greatest desire” Aslan replied with a soft smile.   
      _Their heart’s greatest desire_. Eilonwy’s mind flashed back to her dream, of the blue eyes that haunted her, as she slowly turned to glance at Peter being rushed through the nearby hallway. He glanced her way and smiled awkwardly, embarrassed by all the fuss everyone was making, before disappearing just as quickly.   
      A warm, throaty chuckle broke from Aslan’s lips as he followed the girl’s eyes and then returned his gaze to her face. “The redness in your face leads me to believe you got what you were after?” he asked. It wasn’t until the lion made note of it that Eilonwy realized she was, in fact, blushing, and she presently slapped her palms to her cheeks to hide their color. Aslan laughed at the girl’s antics before adding, “Sometimes we are presented with feats which we cannot understand the purpose of, yet are lead to something much more worthwhile than we can ever imagine. Without your perceived curse, you would never have lived to meet the Pevensies and help them on their journey to restore this land. I know Cair Paravel harkens many bittersweet memories, dear one, but I shall reassure you that you are eternally under my protection. Nothing can hurt you that you cannot handle. I will not ask much of you dear one, except for you to put your fears in my paws and trust that I will look after you.”   
      Though he spoke so coolly of it, Eilonwy knew the task was nowhere near as easy as Aslan may lead her to believe. As she contemplated her decision, an awful irony slapped her in the face. Just days before, the world was cold and all looked hopeless and Eilonwy had zero faith in Aslan’s care of her country. Now here she was standing in her old home beside the beast himself as he asked her to wholly put her trust in him. A tiny part of her even felt insulted. “But how do I know you won’t disappear and leave us to die like last time?” she asked warily.   
      “My dear Eilonwy, you doubt too much. While I may not have been present physically, I kept watch over the entire country for as long as Jadis reigned. However, I cannot always come swooping in to fix things. Sometimes things happen that we must simply figure out ourselves, things that will resolve when the time is right. For you, that time is now. I cannot force you to trust me, for all trust is gained and I like everyone else must earn that privilege from you. All I can do is ask, Daughter of Eve, that you trust I will always watch over you and that everything that happens in the future is because I deem it so” Aslan spoke.   
      Eilonwy still remained uncertain, eyeing the lion with great scrutiny over all he asked of her. As she contemplated, she thought of the Pevensies. Called forth from a completely different world, they had an obligation to fulfill, whether they wanted to or not, yet they accepted their duty and put their trust in the lion standing before her. She thought specifically of Lucy, of her eyes full of wonder and light. The littlest Pevensie was so pure, her faith in Aslan firmly mounted from the moment she stepped foot in this land. In a way, Lucy reminded her of her sister, Amalthea, who was constantly buried in Aslan’s scriptures. How could they have possibly mustered so much blind faith? As she drifted back to reality, she looked upon the lion and questioned everything she had ever believed in. Staring into his warm, passionate eyes, though, her decision seemed to make itself. Before she knew it, her mouth was speaking on it’s accord. “I promise.”   
      Aslan smiled and nodded once in approval before glancing back towards the hallway where Peter had recently passed. “I see much change in your heart, dear one, and much happiness in your future” he stated.   
      Eilonwy couldn’t help but smile, turning her gaze to the hallway as well. The weight of her fears had been lifted from her shoulders. She was finally free, body and soul. Nothing was holding her back now from pursuing what she truly desired. The first order of business was to speak to Peter, to have a truly intimate conversation with him, and most importantly, to finally open her heart to his affections. From this point onward, she was no longer afraid.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

##  _Chapter Seventeen_

   Eilonwy clasped her hands tightly and sucked in a deep breath, nothing but the soft pattering of her own feet echoing down the hallway. The door to Susan’s chamber was creaked slightly ajar, the sound of faint conversation slipping through to greet the maiden’s ears. As she neared, Eilonwy began regretting her decisions and considered turning back but knew it was too late for that now. Straightening her back, she took a deep breath and lightly rapped on the door. 

   “State your name and business, please” an unfamiliar voice rang from inside.  
   "It’s, uh, it’s Eilonwy. Could I slip in for a moment?“ she called. There was a moment of quiet, of whispered conference, before a young faun with dainty features opened the door and bid Eilonwy inside.   
   Susan’s chambers were as beautiful as one might expect; Eilonwy could hardly mask her amazement toward the gorgeous decor. In the quieter moments of the following days, the Pevensies had worked to personalize their spaces and while Eilonwy was not at the liberty to view the royal family’s private quarters, she could already tell Susan’s was the most beautiful. Sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains and cast a rosy glow about the entire room, and rose oils were lit upon the nightstand for a sweet aroma. Perfumes and other glass trinkets cluttered her vanity and luxurious dresses peeked through he door of an ornate, ivory wardrobe. Susan dabbed a pink cream onto her lips for a hint of pigment as a faun stood behind her styling her hair. She was the most beautiful vision Eilonwy had ever laid eyes on and she instantly felt self conscious and homely in her presence.   
   Lucy, however, was much less poised and could barely contain herself as another faun struggled to curl her hair. "Eilonwy! I was wondering if you’d stop by!” she enthused, hopping up to greet the girl. She wrapped her little hand around the huntress’s wrist and led her to a padded bench at the foot of Susan’s bed, motioning for her to sit. “I feel like we’ve barely had any time together since we got here” Lucy added.   
   "Well, you’ve all been rather busy, and understandably so" Eilonwy replied.   
   "It’s all been so exhausting, running here and there, filling out so much paperwork, and being poked to death at fittings" Susan interjected. She patted a puff to her cheeks, a cloud of powder forming around her face, then straightened her back and forced a smile. If she had been a stranger walking down the street, she was almost sure she would’ve mistaken herself for their mother. She appeared far older than she truly was but she liked it. She felt confident. When she gazed at her reflection, she looked how a queen ought to. She just wished she had felt like one, as well. As far as she was concerned, queens didn’t have shaky hands and uneasy stomachs.   
   "I bet you’re rather nervous" Eilonwy stated. Susan’s spine went bolt upright and a small gasp rose from her lips.   
   "Not at all, really" she lied. “It’s just a ceremony. It’s nothing too special.”   
   Lucy eyed her sister suspiciously a moment, knowing she wasn’t being completely honest, before turning her attention back to Eilonwy. “I’m not nervous at all” she replied. “Actually, I’m extremely excited! We’re going to be _queens_! I can’t think of anything more exciting than that” Lucy gushed. Her faun attendant snuck up beside her to pin her hair behind her ear and refine her curls while she was sitting still, an exasperated look upon her face as if she had been chasing the child around all morning.   
   Eilonwy chuckled softly and nodded. “I can tell you absolutely cannot wait” she spoke softly, helping the faun to fix the young queen’s hair.   
   "You will be there, won’t you, Eilonwy? Oh, please say you will!“ Lucy begged.   
   "I wouldn’t dream of missing it” the huntress replied, words laced with ingenuity. After all, she had grown rather fond of the Pevensies. They were taking her parents’ place upon the thrones and, as a member of the previous royal family, she didn’t dare disappoint their legacy. “I ought to let you both finish up now. I’ll see you later, though, alright?” she added. Both queens-to-be nodded and bid their friend goodbye, Lucy diving in for a quick hug, before Eilonwy departed.   
   As she closed the door behind her, she glanced up to find a familiar face trotting down the hall. “Tumnus…?” she asked in disbelief. The last time she saw him was the night he appeared at the Beavers, panicked and disheveled. The faun stopped dead in his tracks, cheeks reddening, as he slowly approached. “Hello…” she murmured.   
   "Hello…“ he returned, eyes locked on the floor. He toyed with the tassels of his scarf nervously.   
   "I, uh…I didn’t expect to find you in this part of the Cair” Eilonwy said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  
   "Well, I was just, uh, just giving the crowns one final polish before the coronation. They’re, uh…they’re very prone to fingerprints and such…need to be kept as clean as possible" he stammered. Eilonwy simply nodded before they slipped into an awkward silence.   
   There were so many things she wanted to say to him, so many emotions coursing through her body. To think, she had discredited his claims so much and yet in the time between their meetings, she had become an integral part of the revolution she was so sure would never come. After everything, no emotion plagued her quite as much as pure guilt. The feeling swelled inside her until it finally burst in a flood of apologies. “Oh, god, I’m so sorry Tumnus! I never should’ve treated you so horribly! I should’ve just trusted you even though I couldn’t possibly imagine how anything you had said was true– but it _was_ true and I know that now and I should’ve just believed you but I didn’t! Augh, and then you got arrested and I thought I’d never see you again and I just felt so horrible. To think, what would’ve happened if you had died and the very last thing I had ever said to you was something so cruel and–and– I just…I’m so sorry” she gushed. By the time she had finished, her face was bright red and eyes teary. Tumnus stared back at her with wide eyes, not expecting such a display, especially from someone as tough and unapologetic as Eilonwy.   
   After a few moments of silence, Tumnus finally sighed and rested a gentle hand on Eilonwy’s shoulder. “I forgive you” he said softly. A sweet smile spread across his lips, the kind that proved his ingenuity, and Eilonwy couldn’t help but leap forth and hug him. He chuckled softly and wrapped his arms around her in return. It was the first time she had ever hugged him, or even shown any abrupt signs of affection toward anyone really, and so the faun truly wasn’t quite sure how to act. “You’ve changed, Ellie” he said as she pulled away.   
   "I, uh, I guess I have…a bit" she replied sheepishly.   
   "What’s come over you? Hugging people, acting so shy?“ he asked.   
   "Well…” she started. She wasn’t quite sure how to condense her adventure into a simple explanation. She had been through so much, and she truly had changed. It was hard to think of a way to chronicle everything that wasn’t as lengthy as the actual journey itself. “I grew up” she finally stated. “I’ve been given a phenomenal opportunity to become a better person and I decided to take it. It hasn’t failed me yet.”   
   A wide grin spread across Tumnus’s face as he took Eilonwy’s hands in his. “I’m so happy to see you so happy, Ellie” he said. Eilonwy nodded, her heart swelling at his kindness. She had never fully appreciated it before. “You know, I’ve heard little fragments here and there of all you’ve done. The help you gave to the Pevensies. I’m glad you finally got the adventure you were after” he added.  
   "I suppose I did" Eilonwy laughed.  
   "So, how was it? Was it everything you had wanted?“ Tumnus then asked.   
   Eilonwy paused a moment, tracing back through every moment of her grand adventure. Finally, she smiled and nodded definitively. "Everything I wanted and more.”   
   They traded quiet smiles and soft laughter for a moment before their attention was then stolen away by the sound of horns blaring from the balcony. Tumnus jumped, startled, before padding his hooves against the marble flooring in excitement. “It’s time!”   
   "Go on" Eilonwy urged him, watching him depart. The door to Susan’s chamber swung open and both girls rushed toward the staircase, fauns in tow.   
   "Come on, Eilonwy!“ Lucy shouted back, barrelling up the stairs behind her sister. The maiden nodded and replied she would be up shortly. As the hall emptied and she waded toward the staircase, she stopped at a mirror to check her reflection and nitpick at her hair a moment. She never nitpicked but she felt as if it was appropriate to look perfect for the occasion. Or at least as perfect as she could get herself. Strangely enough, however, she initially didn’t recognize the girl staring back at her. The woman she saw now seemed graceful and refined, hair braided down her back and thin frame draped in cerulean. She was no longer the muddy orphan she had spent a hundred years parading around as. Not only had she faced a change of heart, but a change of physicality and demeanor, as well. She scoffed, thinking of how proud her mother would’ve been if only she was there. Her hand skated across the top of the mahogany table before her and she sighed at the bittersweet memories. But now was not the time to reminisce. There was a coronation and she was running late.   
  Sirens leapt and sang along to triumphant music from outside the throne room as Eilonwy skidded into the crowd beside Mink and the Beavers. The double doors swung open, letting a wave of light flood the room, and Aslan stepped over the threshold bathed in the afternoon glow. From the two winding staircases beside came the figures of the new monarchs, Edmund and Peter descending from the right and Susan and Lucy from the left. The centaurs raised their trumpets to their lips, the clear sound ushering the four forward behind the great Lion himself. As they neared the thrones, Eilonwy couldn’t help but blush at the sight of Peter. There was something majestic about him, even if he was wearing goldenrod tights. A soft smile touched her lips.   
   "For a hundred years, my country has struggled against tyranny and frostbite under the cruel reign of Jadis, the White Witch. However, you have put your faith in the belief that one day, two Sons of Adam and two Daughters of Eve would arrive to save you from this grave state. And save they did, whether they believed they could or not. They stand before you, battle weary yet proud, fine children befitting the titles of kings and queens. So now I implore you all to welcome your new monarchs with open arms and warm hearts, for they are my children and my likeness. May they uphold the laws and morals upon which this country was founded and do my bidding in the time which I am not present” Aslan spoke. His noble voice silenced every soul in the room and something strange began to swell deep within Eilonwy’s chest. “Bring forth the crowns” his booming voice then said, and the lion turned to the Beavers, who in their paws held cushions upon which the four crowns sat. He nodded in their direction, ushering them forward alongside Tumnus, who bowed before the beast before getting to his work.   
   "To the glistening Eastern Sea, I give you Queen Lucy the Valiant" he then announced. Tumnus strode forward, gently lifting a silver circlet of laurel and yarrow and placing it upon the girl’s head. They shared a grin of delight, the kind only very close friends can share when they are within a happy, intimate moment, before moving to the next monarch.   
   "To the great Western Wood, King Edmund the Just" Aslan spoke. The boy knelt down, a small smile on his face, as Tumnus rested a crown adorned with leaves upon his head. As Tumnus strolled back to the Beavers, Edmund glanced to his siblings with a wide smile, obviously proud of himself and rightly so. A warmth overwhelmed Eilonwy’s heart at the sight: to think, the traitor transformed into a king.   
   "To the radiant Southern Sun, Queen Susan the Gentle" the lion then said and Tumnus rested upon her head a golden circlet of daffodils. Though still nervous, Susan accepted her crown with all the grace and dignity that Eilonwy expected of her and the title “gentle” surely seemed to fit. Susan was not a warrior, nor was she crass. She was a lady and she had, at least in the time that Eilonwy knew her, acted as such. She stood with shoulders back and head held high as Tumnus retrieved the last crown upon the cushion.   
   "And to the clear Northern sky" Aslan began, “I give you King Peter the Magnificent.” His booming voice left Eilonwy breathless as Tumnus placed the ornate, golden crown upon his head. Though he maintained composure, the huntress could see from his eyes that the boy was beaming.   
  The quartet gathered their capes and then took their seats upon their thrones, a little step stool beneath Lucy’s as she was too short to reach the thing on her own. Aslan turned to face them as these new, young monarchs sat before their people, concluding, “Once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. May your wisdom grace us until the stars reign down from the heavens.” Something about that statement hit Eilonwy square in the throat, knocking the wind straight from her chest. No matter what happened, once crowned, these siblings would always be monarchs of this beloved land. Perhaps, though she wasn’t quite sure, but perhaps that meant that no matter what happened, she was still royalty, as well. Lineage was one thing but status was another matter entirely. Though her parents and sisters had long since passed, Aslan’s words gave her a shred of hope that maybe she, too, was still a princess. She nearly choked on her own saliva at the thought, realizing that she was seemingly becoming more comfortable with the thought of being a princess in the first place. Now that she had returned home to Cair Paravel, that title actually meant something and while she wasn’t sure if she was even in the right frame of mind, perhaps she was beginning to finally accept that fact.  
   Eilonwy cheered and joined in as the audience chanted for each of the newly crowned to live long and prosperous lives, and in the midst of it all met eyes with Peter himself. He smiled at her softly, a sense of pride and dignity overwhelming him, and she grinned back as she clapped wildly for him and his siblings. As she watched him sit upon that Narnian throne, she couldn’t help but feel astonished at how far Peter had come in the short time she knew him. She couldn’t have been prouder of his accomplishments. None were as worthy of being High King as him.   
  Boisterous music flooded the throne room as afterwards, a grand reception took place. Mermaids from the sea had swam up to the shoreline and sang along hypnotically, their strange voices ringing like bells through the grand hall. Edmund immediately made a beeline for the buffet table, stretching the entire length of the hall and cluttered with a feast for gods. Snatching up a plate, he collected a wide assortment of delicacies until coming to a large platter that forced him to stop dead in his tracks. Staring back at him was a massive tower of Turkish delight. He stared at it for a moment, half tempted and half terrified, before a quick hand whisked it away and he turned to find the thief was none other than his sister Lucy. A mischievous grin spread across her face and Edmund couldn’t help but laugh.   
   Eilonwy weaved through the crowd of twirling fauns and dancing beasts, praying not to get caught up in the dancing. She sidled up to the buffet table, picking at the finger sandwiches and candied nuts, as she surveyed the crowd. In the bustle of dancers, she had nearly lost sight of Peter and the rest, but assumed they were far too busy celebrating their success.   
  “May I have this dance?” a voice suddenly spoke. Taken aback, Eilonwy gasped and spilled a handful of nuts onto the floor, whipping around to see none other than Tumnus smiling back at her.   
   "T-Tumnus! You scared the shit out of me!“ she replied sharply, leaning down to scoop up the nuts from the floor. She glanced around cautiously before spilling them back into their crystal bowl. No one needed to know they had been on the floor.   
   The faun shook his head and chuckled at her antics, replying, "I have something for you.” It wasn’t until then that she realized his hands were behind his back. She instantly grew skeptical, unsure of what he was about to present her, though she knew it couldn’t be anything dangerous. Tumnus wasn’t that kind of faun. Still, her heart leapt into her throat as she eyed him suspiciously and awaited his response.   
   The moment she saw it, Eilonwy’s eyes began to water. From behind his back, Tumnus produced a beautiful circlet, dainty and slightly worn. Small diamonds were embedded in the thin garland of golden leaves. The huntress recognized it immediately. “My crown…”   
   "I found it in the chamber room when we were retrieving the crowns for the Pevensies. Aslan thought it might be a good idea to refurbish it, and I agreed" the faun explained.   
   "Th-that’s really too kind, Tumnus, but I’m not so sure it’s–“ she started but was instantly interrupted.   
   "Nonsense. Please, allow me…” Tumnus then looked at her with the softest gaze, the kind she didn’t dare say no to for fear of making him cry. With a sigh, she dropped her shoulders and motioned for him to place the crown upon her head. It was surprisingly light, far lighter than she remembered, yet she still found herself feeling overwhelmingly self conscious and hyper-aware of it’s presence. A pleased grin spread wide across Tumnus’s face.  
   "Oh, come now, Tumnus, is this really all that necessary?“ Eilonwy protested.   
   The faun nodded. "Aslan said it himself: once a king or queen of Narnia, always a king or queen. And princesses are no exception.”   
   Eilonwy scoffed but knew he had a point. Though she hated the way the thing felt on her head, she supposed she could stand to wear it just for the night. Rolling her eyes, she chuckled softly and embraced Tumnus in a friendly hug. As she pulled away, however, her eyes drifted to Peter on the dance floor nervously stomping out of time to the music with a dryad whose expression said everything about her thoughts on his dancing. “Now, Tumnus, if you’d excuse me, I have a king to go save” Eilonwy jested. A sly smile graced her lips as she ducked past a centaur and approached Peter and his leafy friend.   
   "Mind if I cut in?“ she spoke, poison on her tongue, while eyeing the dryad. The creature paused a moment, staring at Eilonwy suspiciously, before scoffing and floating away.   
   "Thank you. So, so much” Peter replied with profuse gratitude. His face had gone beet red, though Eilonwy wasn’t sure if it was because of her or all the dancing.   
   "This isn’t an excuse to leave the dance floor, smartass" she replied, then gasped theatrically and added, “Or am I no longer allowed to call you names for fear of a beheading?”   
   Peter chuckled and shook his head, declaring “Off with your head!” Before Eilonwy could make a comeback, however, Susan and the Fox twirled by a little too closely, bumping the huntress closer to the newly crowned king. With their faces mere inches from each other now, Eilonwy could feel his breath on her skin and her cheeks blushed wildly. She slowly met his gaze, sharing a silent moment together before Peter’s eyes rose to the crown upon her head and the corners of his lips turned upward. “What’s that?” he asked, finger skating up to graze the circlet.  
   "Tumnus found it from my old days at the Cair. Apparently he thought it would be a good idea to freshen it up and make me parade around in it like some sort of porcelain doll" Eilonwy explained, making a goofy face and pointing at the thing.   
   "No, no, I like it. It’s rather fitting. You clean up nice, _princess_ “ he joked.   
   Eilonwy gasped and wrinkled her nose, lightly punching the king in the arm. "I thought I told you never to call me that.”   
   "I’m just calling it as I see it" Peter replied. “Really, though. You look beautiful.”   
   The word rolled off his tongue so effortlessly, Eilonwy nearly thought he surely had to be speaking of someone else. No one had ever called her beautiful before. Every limb in her body trembled, the red in her cheeks deepening even more. She could hardly contain that happy feeling swelling in her chest once more, biting her lip as she looked away. She didn’t want Peter thinking she was flattered or worse: vulnerable. No amount of hiding her face could stop the king from noticing, however, gently grazing her chin to turn her attention back to him. She gazed up into those godforsaken sapphire eyes and her lips instantly itched to feel his against hers. Like instinct, they slowly inched closer and closer until Eilonwy suddenly realized what she was doing. Panicked, she recoiled and cleared her throat, eyes locked on the ground. “Well, um, c-congratulations on your, uh, your new…new kingship…and such. It’s, um, uh…a great…great honor and privilege. Really” she stammered.   
   Utter disappointment coated Peter’s face as he dug the toe of his boot against the marble floor. “Thank you” he murmured, preceded by a brief silence. Eilonwy glanced his way, stabbed by a tinge of guilt for not actually just kissing him. After a few quiet moments, he finally broke the silence. “I never could’ve gotten here without your help, though” he added softly.   
   The huntress furrowed her brow, awaiting an elaboration but Peter just simply broke his gaze to glance up at her, a sheepish smile crossing his lips. The corner of her mouth tugged upwards, returning his gaze as she whispered back, “No, I don’t think so. You could’ve gotten here without me. My presence makes no difference on the outcome.” A tearing feeling began to overcome Eilonwy from deep inside, a desperation to escape breaking through. Before she could step away, Peter grasped her hand.  
   As he shook his head, he replied, “I wouldn’t have wanted to do it without you, though.” Eilonwy shot him a confused glare, knowing full well him and his siblings would’ve been much better off without her petty bullshit dragging them down. “I know we haven’t always agreed on things” he continued, “and that there were definitely times when you were a right pain in the ass, but please believe me when I say this, Eilonwy: you have made this entire thing worthwhile. I would’ve rather stayed in Finchley dodging bombs than have come to Narnia without meeting you.”   
   Now Eilonwy’s eyes once more brimmed with tears. She didn’t know what to say but perhaps no words needed to be spoken. Peter gently cupped her cheek in his hand, face aglow, and brushed a few stray tendrils of hair from her face. Her skin came alive beneath his touch, once again inching closer and closer. This time, however, she wasn’t so scared. She thought back to the beginning of things, of how skeptical she had always been of the prophecy. Perhaps one day she would come to regret her decisions, her grand adventure to save Narnia alongside these otherworldly siblings, but for the time being, she had to admit she was more than content with where she was. A thundrous joy burst inside her as she leaned up and pressed her lips to Peter’s, resting her hands on his chest and giving in to the moment. Cair Paravel may not have been where she wanted to end up but it was where she belonged. This incredible adventure led her to her destiny and now that she was here, a great, wide world of promise awaited her. Narnia was under new management and while Eilonwy didn’t know what to expect, she had high hopes that it was going to be good. Wonderful, even. And such was the end of one adventure and the beginning of a million more. 


End file.
